Magus et Ensis
by CracktheSkye
Summary: When Harry Potter descended into the Chamber of Secrets, he honestly didn't expect to survive. He didn't expect to slay a basilisk with an ancient sword he pulled from the Sorting Hat. And he definitely didn't expect that sword to start talking to him.
1. Serpens et Ensis

**So, welcome, everyone. If you've never met me before, I'm CracktheSkye, or just Skye. This is only my second story, and an experiment in a completely different fanbase than my previous story, so please forgive any egregious errors. I'm always open to constructive criticism, so if you find something wrong, let me know so I can fix it. Especially since this is a Harry Potter fic, and I'm American born and raised. Any Britpickers reading this story are welcome to tell me exactly what I'm doing wrong. If you've read my other story, you should know that this will be my short-update story, with more frequent and shorter chapters, while Indomitable Spirit will remain my long-update story. The concept of this story arose while I was rereading the Potter series, and my e-mail told me there was a Bleach update. The idea sparked, and this story began to germinate in the deep recesses of my subconscious. It's not a straight Bleach crossover, but it will incorporate several concepts from Bleach. I am undecided on pairing as of now. I'm unsure if I can actually write a good developing relationship, but we'll see. Thank you all for listening to a partially-deranged high school student's pre-story rant. **

**And now, without further ado…**

**CracktheSkye proudly presents:**

**MAGUS ET ENSIS**

Disclaimer: Sigh…No, I don't own Harry Potter. Or Bleach. Even worse, I don't own any more Twinkies.

Book One, Chapter One: Serpens et Ensis

"One, Two! One, Two! And through and through  
the vorpal blade went snicker-snack!  
He left it dead, and with its head  
He went galumphing back."

_Jabberwocky_, Lewis Carroll

29 May, 1993 Hogwarts Castle

Harry ducked as the basilisk's tail swung wildly over his head, and felt something soft hit him in the face. The basilisk's thrashing had swept the Sorting Hat into Harry's arms. Without a second's hesitation, Harry snatched up the hat, rolling to the left as the heavy tail slammed down less than a foot away from him. Harry jammed the battered old hat on his head, and desperately threw himself down as the tail scythed through the air above his head again.

_Help me – help me – _Harry thought as hard as could, eyes screwed tight shut. _Please help me – _

The hat did not respond as it had when he was a First Year. Instead, it felt as if it was squeezing around Harry's head like an invisible vise.

Something heavy – and very hard – thudded onto the top of the Gryffindor's head. He saw stars dance in front of his vision for a moment, and almost passed out. Recovering himself, he yanked the hat off of his head, and stuck his hand into it. He felt the cool touch of metal, and closed his hand around whatever it was.

There was a sudden sensation of warmth in his hand, and it spread up his arm and into his chest.

_Yes, you'll do nicely. _

The voice was low and rumbling, but was undeniably pleased. Harry pulled whatever-it-was from the hat in one motion, and stared at it.

It was a gleaming silvery sword, with large rubies set into the pommel and crossguard. Obeying some instinct, Harry raised the sword to chest height, his right hand tightening its grip on the handle.

"_~WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU CAN STILL SEE HIM! BITE HIM TO DEATH! BEAT HIM WITH YOUR TAIL UNTIL HE BREAKS IN TWO!~" _Riddle hissed, face contorted with rage.

Harry froze. The snake was blinded by Fawkes. Wasn't it? So why was the snake's head, with its bloody, empty sockets where its eyes should be, turning slowly, inexorably towards him? Harry scooted to his right, hoping it was just chance… and the Basilisk's head followed him.

And then Harry remembered a display in the Reptile House, nearly three years ago, of a pit viper:

The pit viper uses the "pits" on its head to see heat from its prey, even in total darkness.

In the same moment that Harry came to the horrified realization that the basilisk could still see him, the snake lunged forward, its fangs gleaming with venom –

Harry threw himself to the side, the massive jaws snapping shut on empty air. The young Gryffindor spun, raising the sword to stab the snake in its side.

_Duck!_

Harry hesitated at the sound of the voice. It cost him, as the serpent's tail slammed into his torso. It felt like Dudley had just hit him with a sledgehammer, and Harry's vision swam for a moment before clearing.

_Roll left!_

This time Harry obeyed the voice, and rolled across the damp stones, just barely dodging another pounding tail-strike.

_Get up and jump right._

Understanding now that the voice was trying to help him, the black-haired boy scrambled to his feet, then leapt to his right, and felt the rush of wind next to him from the serpent's lunge.

_!_

The next command had no discernible words, but was instead an immense urge to slash out to the left with his sword. Harry obeyed the strange instinct, spinning to the left and slicing downward, from right to left. The blade met the basilisk's scales – and shuddered as it bit through the scales, leaving a long, deep cut in the serpent's side. The massive snake hissed in pain, and blood, hot and red, spewed from the wound, showering Harry in the crimson liquid. The basilisk's head snapped towards him, and lashed out faster than Harry could react.

A sharp, fiery pain lanced into Harry's arm, and there was a splintering sound as one of the basilisk's fangs snapped off, leaving the venomous tooth in the wound. Harry choked out a half scream, and stumbled backward, his left arm hanging limply at his side, the fang still sticking out of it. He weakly raised the sword, the tip wavering. Riddle laughed, high and cold.

"Do you see now, Harry Potter? How futile your struggles are against the power of the Heir of Slytherin? Now…die! _~KILL HIM~!_"

The basilisk reared back, hissing, as it prepared to strike. Harry stared up at his death, and was terrified. He could feel the venom from the fang, burning its way down his left arm, and back up into his shoulder, and through the rest of his body. It sapped at his strength, and his vision began to blur. Riddle's chilling laughter sounded as if it was coming from far away. He was going to die, Ginny was going to die, and Tom Riddle was going to be free inside Hogwarts.

Then, the world stopped. The sound of Riddle's laughter hung suspended in the silence, and the serpent froze in place, like the largest museum exhibit in the world. Harry felt a strange warmth seep from the hand holding the sword into the rest of his body. The sword felt lighter in his hand, and the voice spoke to him again.

_Why do you hesitate, Harry? That which clouds your vision is worthless fear. You are a Gryffindor, and your enemy is before you. Abandon your fear. Face forward. Move onward. Never stop._

The warmth built up in Harry's chest, and his vision cleared. Something within him began rising.

_If you retreat, you will age. If you hesitate, you will die. Roar it! My name is – _

The world snapped into motion, and the basilisk lashed forward, even as the rising force burst out of Harry.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Red-gold light erupted around the sword, and Harry stabbed the blade upward, cutting cleanly through the basilisk's hide and piercing up through the skull, into the brain. Blood fountained from the wound, evaporating into crimson mist as it met the glowing magic around the sword. Like a limp rag, the snake collapsed to the floor in front of Harry, dead. Harry's legs folded underneath him, and he, too, slumped down to the cold stones. The light around the blade faded, and it was once again a normal sword. Harry let the ancient weapon clatter to the ground. With trembling fingers, he reached over with his right hand and grasped the fang.

Gritting his teeth, he wrenched it out, barely holding in a scream. It was a pointless effort, Harry knew. The poison was in his heart, and it was just a matter of time.

A rush of feathers, and Fawkes landed next to Harry. Weakly, Harry stroked the phoenix's feathers with his only good arm.

"You were brilliant Fawkes." He croaked.

Harry heard footsteps, and Tom Riddle's ever-more-physical shade stood over him, a sneer on his face that outstripped Draco Malfoy's best by miles.

"You're dead, Harry Potter. Dead. Even Dumbledore's pet chicken knows it. See? He's crying."

Harry turned his head. Though his vision was beginning to blur and tunnel, he could just make out the reflection of light below the phoenix's eyes. The tears rolled off the phoenix's face, and Harry felt them drip into his wound.

Then Riddle kicked out with an almost-corporeal foot, and Fawkes took off, like a startled pigeon. Riddle laughed again.

"So ends the great Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Alone, in the Chamber of Secrets, without his friends, failing even to save one…little…girl. You'll be with your Mudblood mother soon enough, Potter. She managed to buy you eleven years, but in the end, Lord Voldemort always triumphs."

The shade crouched down, a sadistically excited gleam in his eyes. "So, Potter, any last words?"

Harry desperately wanted to reach out and punch Riddle in the face, and wipe the smirk off of his face. But it was too far, and the venom had drained all the strength from his limbs. His vision was fading, turning to black…

The pain began to fade away. Was this what dying was like? It wasn't too bad, Harry thought. He felt warm, like being wrapped in the most comfortable blanket in the world.

Then, he felt a jerk on the back of his neck – Did souls have necks? – as if something had grabbed him there.

_Not so fast, cub. It's not your time to go yet. Look, your body's not even dead yet._

Sensation returned to Harry all at once. The cold dampness of the floor below him, the burning ache of the venom, that even now was fading away to a dull throb in his left arm, and then into nothing. Harry's eyes found Riddle, who had turned away. Harry shifted, pushing himself up to a sitting position. His fingers found the smooth, curved shape of the basilisk's fang, and clenched around it.

Even if he failed to save Ginny, he could still kill Riddle now…

Then Harry's foot scuffed against the floor, and Riddle whirled, holding Harry's wand at the ready. His eyes widened, then narrowed, the sneer only faltering for a moment.

"How…? Of course, phoenix tears. I almost forgot."

Harry glanced down at the arm where Fawkes' tears had landed. The gaping hole the fang had left as it punched through skin and sliced muscle before scraping against bone was almost completely gone, leaving only a ragged, white scar.

Riddle spoke again. "No matter. Now I can have the pleasure of killing you myself. And then I'll kill your blood-traitor friend and that Mudblood bitch. Oh, she was a clever one, wasn't she Potter? She figured it out all on her own. But it didn't save her, just like it won't save you."

Something in Harry snapped, and he surged to his feet, a roar building in his chest. Riddle casually gestured with the wand in his hand, and an invisible force slammed into the Gryffindor, knocking him back onto the floor. The Slytherin slowly walked towards him.

"Admirable, but futile Potter. And now…"

The shade was cut off by a loud, musical screech, as Fawkes swept by, dropping a small object in Harry's lap as he passed. Harry and Riddle both looked down at it, momentarily frozen in surprise. Then, Harry glanced up, and met Riddle's eyes. In those dark orbs was something new.

Fear.

The strange voice did not even have to say anything this time. Harry raised the fang high, its still-envenomed tip glinting dully in the light of the Chamber, and, as Riddle shouted "No!" drove it down into the book.

Riddle screamed, a high, unearthly _keening_ that Harry was sure could have been heard all the way in Gryffindor Tower. The shade stumbled, and fell to his knees, Harry's wand dropping from fingers that reached up to claw wildly at a horrified visage. Thick, black ink, instead of blood, began leaking from Riddle's nose, mouth, ears, and tear ducts. The image of the shade wavered, replaced by an ugly, twisted _thing_ that was a parody of the human form in a similar position, then Riddle's form reasserted itself. For nearly a full minute, the scream continued unabated, the writhing image of Riddle growing less and less solid by the second, until, finally, in one final, terrible crescendo, the shade of Tom Riddle tore itself apart.

For a long second, the echo of Riddle's scream reverberated in the chamber. Then, Ginny Weasley sat bolt upright, eyes wide. Her eyes found Harry, climbing painfully to his feet. The younger girl pelted across the room, and threw her arms around Harry, sobbing into his chest.

"So cold…he…he…I'm sorry…"

Harry was honestly at a loss for words, so instead simply patted the sobbing redhead on the back, while she continued to soak his bloodstained robes with tears, repeating "Sorry" over and over again.

"Er…It's all right, Ginny. He's gone. He won't hurt you again."

The youngest Weasley pulled away finally, wiping tears away from her eyes, and nodded. Harry turned, and bent over, picking up the strange sword, and feeling the warmth once again steal through his body. He considered the fang still gripped in his hand for a moment, before tucking it into a pocket.

For a moment, both Harry and Ginny stared down at the ink-soaked diary, before Ginny, hands trembling, picked it up, and gave it to him. For a moment, the First Year looked like she would burst into tears again, until Fawkes, fluttering down to land on Harry's shoulder, crooned softly, bringing a reluctant smile to her face.

"Come on then," Harry said, "Let's get out of here."

The trek back out of the Chamber seemed to take far less time than the journey in, Harry reflected. Maybe it was because the primal terror of facing a basilisk was no longer present, or maybe it was the vermillion bird perched on his shoulder. Regardless of the reason, Harry and Ginny soon found themselves in front of the rockfall. Ron's face, worried and fearful, appeared in a good-sized gap higher up on the pile. The look of worry rapidly changed to one of relief.

"GINNY! You're okay!"

Harry and Ginny clambered up the rockfall and through the hole. Ron tightly embraced Ginny the moment she was through, and gave Harry a tight smile.

"Harry…mate…thank you."

The three of them, with Fawkes softly glowing feathers lighting the way, slowly walked back up the tunnel. Ron glanced at the sword that Harry still held.

"What's with the sword, mate?"

Harry shrugged. "I pulled it out of the Sorting Hat."

Ron's eyebrows went up.

"Fawkes brought it to me. I guess it came in handy."

Ron still looked puzzled, but let it go, as they came out of the tunnel at the chute up to the girl's bathroom. Gilderoy Lockhart was there, looking about with the seriousness of a man on many, many drugs and a Cheering Charm or two. That is, none at all.

"Odd place, this, isn't it? Do you live here?"

Harry considered the cowardly man – Why was something inside him growling at that? – for a moment, then turned to Ron, the question clear on his face.

"His memory's completely gone," Ron said, gesturing dismissively at the blonde dandy. "Shot. That Memory Spell must have actually been pretty strong."

"Well, one thing's for sure," Harry cracked a smile. "That wand of yours definitely came in handy."

Ron laughed.

Ginny gazed up the dark, slimy tunnel. "How are we supposed to get back up? I don't think there's a good enough grip on the walls to climb up."

Harry tried to think, but was interrupted by Fawkes leaping off of his shoulder, and hovering in front of them. The phoenix waved his tail feathers at Harry, looking slightly impatient.

"I think he wants us to grab onto his tail." Harry gestured to Ron. "You grab Ginny. Professor Lockhart – "

"That's you." Ron supplied to the older man.

" – grab her hand. Ron, hold on to me."

"Harry, I really don't think that bird can – "

Then Harry grabbed Fawkes burning-hot feathers (which for some reason didn't hurt at all), and a strange feeling of lightness spread through his arm and into his entire body.

With a cry, the phoenix took off, pulling the human chain with him as if they weighed nothing at all. Up the dark tunnel they flew, Lockhart and both Weasleys laughing in delight. And then, it was over, and they tumbled onto the wet floor of Myrtle's bathroom.

The ghost pouted, floating cross-legged above one of the stalls. "You're still alive."

"No need to sound so disappointed," Ron grumped, shooting the ghost an exasperated glare.

She ignored him. "I was just thinking, Harry. If you died…you'd be welcome to share my toilet."

Her cheeks colored a dark silver.

Ron gawped for a moment, then, under his breath, whispered. "Harry, she _fancies _you!"

Harry glanced awkwardly at the ghost. "Erm…thanks, Myrtle."

She giggled as the quartet were led out of the room by Fawkes. "Bye Harry!"

"So now where do we go?" Ron wondered.

Harry gestured with the hand that held the sword at Fawkes, who was flapping down the corridor to the left.

"Follow him, I guess."

"Come on, you." Ron grabbed Lockhart, who was prodding at the nearest portrait and murmuring "Amazing! They can move _inside_ the picture!", much to the portrait's displeasure.

The halls were quiet as they made their way up several flights, down a hallway, and up to a corridor near Gryffindor Tower. He stopped just outside the door, and squawked musically at Harry.

Harry recognized the door. It was Professor McGonagall's. He took a deep breath, and opened the door.

For a long moment, the occupants of the room stared at the odd quartet. Lockhart, covered in slime and gazing around like a child in a toy store, Ron, slimy and dust-covered, Harry, who, on top of the dust and slime, was soaked in blood, clutching a book and a sword, and Ginny, who, ironically, was practically spotless, apart from the tear tracks on her cheeks.

"_GINNY!"_

And then, faster than Harry could believe, Mrs. Weasley was on her feet and hugging her daughter. Mr. Weasley was not far behind, unashamedly shedding tears of relief.

Fawkes gave a happy cry, then soared over to sit on the mantel, just behind Dumbledore, who was beaming so brightly Harry swore the Headmaster was performing _Lumos_ with his face, and Professor McGonagall, who had a hand over her heart, and looked to be having trouble breathing. Molly swept Harry into her hug as well, which was a bit uncomfortable, considering he was sharing it with Ron and Ginny.

"You saved her, Harry! You…" she almost dissolved into tears, but recovered. "How? How did you do it?"

"That, I think, is a story we all wish to hear, Molly." Dumbledore said calmly. With a wave of his wand, all the chairs in the room became plush, purple armchairs, with a few additions for the new arrivals. McGonagall's nostrils flared, but she said nothing, and sat down in one of the chairs, closely followed by everyone else.

Harry set the diary and the sword on the desk, and, taking another steadying breath, began his tale.

**So, that's the first chapter! Yes, it's fairly short, but the next one should be out within the next two weeks. Keep in mind that I'll be balancing this story with Indomitable Spirit, which, as my first story, will hold priority in writing, and with school.**

**Sooooooo…what do you all think? I know it's basically just a variation on the actual Chamber of Secrets scenes, but believe me, the story will eventually have changes happening. So, leave a review (please?) and tell me what I did wrong, and what I did right, and what you think I could do better.**

**CracktheSkye, out!**


	2. Somnia et Ensis

**Wow…The response to this story…I'm astonished. I figured it would get a mild response, or none at all,but the first day alone…thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed or favorited. It really means a lot to me. It actually inspired me to update sooner. To those who asked about the sword, answers are in this chappie. ONWARD!**

"In sleep he sang to me,  
In dreams he came.  
That voice which calls to me,  
And speaks my name."

"The Phantom of the Opera", _The Phantom of the Opera_, Andrew Lloyd Weber

Disclaimer: No.

Book One, Chapter Two: Somnia et Ensis

* * *

30 May, 1993 Hogwarts Castle

Harry groaned softly as he climbed into bed. It was eight in the morning, and a Sunday, so the students had all simply went back to their dorms after partying until the break of day.

It had indeed been a party to remember. The tables had been covered with food, and all decorum thrown aside, as students celebrated in their pyjamas. For Harry, the best part had been when Hermione, fully revived, had come charging into the Great Hall, yelling "You solved it!", and thrown her arms around Harry and Ron. At that moment, the voice that Harry had been hearing since the Chamber had rumbled in satisfaction, and Harry found himself in agreement with it. Ron and Hermione were his friends

_Pride_

and he would happily risk his life for them over and over. Right around three in the morning, Hagrid had come strolling into the Hall as well. The massive gamekeeper had bags under his eyes, and looked just a little bit thinner (although with Hagrid, it didn't make much of a difference), but had been smiling like Christmas had come.

The apology from Justin Finch-Fletchley had been nice as well, but Harry honestly wished the general school population would make up their mind whether to hate him or worship him like the bloody second coming.

The curtains had been drawn on the windows, and Ron was already snoring away. Harry lay back, and stared at the darkened ceiling of his four-poster. The night hadn't been without its surprises, either.

* * *

_The storytelling had lasted for nearly half an hour, and Harry had held everyone present rapt with attention. At long last, the story had finished, and Professor McGonagall and the Weasleys had all left. _

_Dumbledore faced Harry, his eyes twinkling and an unmistakable expression of pride on his face. _

"_It is a magnificent thing you have done tonight Harry. I daresay you would be hard-pressed to find a grown wizard who would be willing to face a millennial basilisk alone, never mind actually _surviving _the deed."_

_Harry flushed. "It was really only because of Fawkes, sir. If he hadn't healed me with his tears, or brought the Hat, or dropped the book on my lap –"_

"_And the mere fact that you were able to face down the basilisk and dispel the shade of Tom Riddle on your own is truly remarkable, Harry."_

_The mention of Riddle dragged a niggling doubt from the depths of Harry's mind._

"_Professor…Riddle said I was a lot like him."_

_Dumbledore's calm expression didn't change. "And are you, Harry?"_

"_I…I don't know. I'm in Gryffindor, not Slytherin, but…we can both speak Parseltongue –"_

"_Ah, Harry. You can speak Parseltongue because Lord Voldemort can speak Parseltongue."_

"_Sir?"_

"_I suspect that when Voldemort tried to kill you, some of his power transferred to you."_

_The Gryffindor recoiled. "What? Some of Voldemort is in…me? Then…is that why the Hat thinks I should have gone into Slytherin? Because it saw that I had that power?"_

"_Mayhaps, Harry. But then, why are you in Gryffindor if you truly belong in Slytherin?"_

_Harry's heart sank into his feet. Any moment now, Dumbledore would have him put the Sorting Hat back on his head, and it would shout "SLYTHERIN!" and he would be told to immediately move all his belongings into the dungeons, and he would spend the next five years parading around in Slytherin green-and-silver._

_For a moment, a mental image of himself, green eyes cold and wearing Slytherin robes flashed in front of his eyes, sneering in a very Malfoy-esque manner at a shocked Ron and Hermione._

"_Harry?"_

_The Headmaster's voice broke the Boy-Who-Lived out of his thoughts, and he looked back at the much older man._

"_Sorry, sir?"_

_The Headmaster's eyes twinkled kindly. "Why," he repeated, "Are you in Gryffindor if the Hat said you belong in Slytherin?"_

_Harry swallowed. "Because…because I told it I didn't want to be in Slytherin."_

_Dumbledore smiled widely. "And that, dear boy, makes all the difference."_

_In that moment, Harry's heart leapt from his feet back into his chest, and he felt an approving rumble from somewhere inside him. Strangely, the rumble was answered in the outside world with a light humming. As one, Dumbledore and Harry turned toward the sound._

_The ancient sword on the desk was vibrating ever so slightly, and the sound made the warmth in Harry's chest grow in response. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again_

"_Ah yes, the sword. If anything, Harry, the fact that this sword presented itself to you is the highest proof that you, who holds a piece of the power of the Heir of Slytherin within, truly do belong in Gryffindor."_

_And Dumbledore picked up the ancient sword, and tilted it so that Harry could see the runes engraved onto the blade, just above the hilt. _

"_This sword, Harry, has not been seen for a thousand years. The last, and only, person to wield it…was Godric Gryffindor."_

_As Dumbledore spoke the name, the strange heat built up in Harry's chest again, the rubies set into the sword seemed to glow with an inner light, and the runes warped and shifted until they were in perfect English._

**I am Gryffindor, forged of the fallen star, and cooled in the blood of dragons. He who carries this blade, let him also carry my will.**

_Dumbledore and Harry both stared at the sword for a moment. Then, before their eyes, the sword began to fade away, becoming transparent and immaterial, before fading away utterly._

"_What…?" Harry tried to say. Dumbledore chuckled._

"_Magic truly is infinite in wonder. Fret not, Harry. I daresay that if the blade is ever needed again, it will appear. And now, off to the feast with you! I have a letter I must write to the Ministry immediately. After all," and here Dumbledore's eyes took on a hint of mischief, "We do need them to give us back our gamekeeper."_

_And that was when Lucius Malfoy had barged in._

* * *

Harry's lip curled at the thought of the blonde-haired man. Something about him brought a feeling of disgust to Harry's mind.

At least Dobby had gotten his freedom, Harry reflected. The look on the elder Malfoy's face had been absolutely priceless.

Harry fell asleep chuckling at the memory of Dobby hurling Lucius Malfoy down a staircase.

* * *

Harry's eyes snapped open. He was lying on his back, in what appeared to be long grass. The sky above him was a clear blue, no clouds in sight.

The Gryffindor stood up, noting as he did that he was wearing his Hogwarts robes. Shading his eyes from the sun, he looked around.

As far as the eye could see, the yellow waist-high grass grew, interrupted occasionally by what looked like trees.

"Where am I?" he wondered aloud. "The last thing I remember is falling asleep… is this a dream?"

"Not quite, cub."

Harry whirled, then stumbled backwards with a strangled cry. Not three feet behind him was the _biggest _lion he had ever seen. It was a tawny gold, easily as tall as Hagrid, and probably taller. The paws were as big as dinner plates, and were tipped with claws so sharp that they looked like they could cut through metal.

Harry frantically reached for his wand, but his hand scrabbled at an empty pocket. Inwardly, he cursed.

The lion took a step forward…and chuckled. Then he spoke, his mouth moving as if he was a human.

"Rest easy, Harry. I will not hurt you."

Hearing the lion's deep, calm voice, something clicked for Harry.

"You're the voice that helped me in the Chamber!"

"Correct." The lion smiled.

"Where did you come from? Are you like Riddle from the diary?"

The lion's golden eyes narrowed. "I would thank you not to compare me to that…abomination again, Harry."

Harry nodded quickly. Whoever this lion was, he didn't want it angry at him. Frankly, if he had been asked to bet on which would win, this lion or the basilisk, he would have laid his money on the lion.

"I'm sorry."

The lion's eyes softened again, and he nodded in acceptance of the apology. Harry, feeling a little safer now, manage to get out his next question.

"Where is this place? The last thing I remember is falling asleep in my bed at Hogwarts."

The lion stared at him for a moment, before turning and padding away.

"Come with me, Harry."

Harry followed, trotting quickly to keep up with the massive feline.

They walked for what seemed like no time at all, and at the same time, seemed like hours. Abruptly they stopped, and Harry stared at the sight in front of them.

A massive tower of reddish rock thrust upwards into the sky, surrounded by boulders and a tight clumping of trees. On the side of the rock that Harry and the lion were on, a second spar of rock thrust outward. Harry gaped, while the lion chuckled again.

"Magnificent, isn't it? Come. "

Harry followed the massive lion up the formation, until they reached the lower outcropping. The sun glinted off of something laid on the ground. At an encouraging nod from the great lion, Harry walked out to the edge of the rock spar.

His eyes widened. Laying against the bare rock was the Sword of Gryffindor. With almost-reverent hands, Harry picked up the sword.

"What is this doing here?"

"It is here because I am here. I am here because it is here."

And then, Harry understood. The voice had started when he had picked up the Sword in the Chamber.

"Are you the Sword of Gryffindor?"

The lion smiled. "You can just call me Gryffindor. Now, to answer your other question Harry. Yes, you are asleep. But this place isn't a dream. It is very much real. This, Harry Potter," The lion gestured slightly with a forepaw, "Is your mind."

Harry eyes widened slightly. "If this is my mind…what are you doing here?"

Gryffindor seemed pleased by the question, and laid down on the sun-warmed rock like the world's largest housecat.

"Sit. This explanation may take awhile."

Harry promptly sat down, holding the sword on his lap.

"Over a thousand years ago, the Four Founders of Hogwarts – Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Godric Gryffindor – forged the haven of Hogwarts out of an inferno of steel, magic, and blood. After the Great Barrier, which protects Hogwarts and its lands from the Muggle world, was erected and bound to the bones of the land it protected, magical beings of all races found sanctuary here. It was then that the Four determined that they would establish a school of magic. Before that, however, they made a pact to travel the world and learn everything they could of magic, and return to Hogwarts in ten years' time. Helga traveled into the depths of the Dark Continent – which is now called Africa – and learned from the witch doctors and the wise men of the Great Desert. Rowena traveled to the lands of Araby, Egypt, and Aryavarta – now called India – and learned from the scholars in the great cities. Salazar roamed the forests and mountains of Europe, seeking out the hidden masters of sorcery. Godric journeyed east, through the harsh mountains and bleak plains of the Orient. He learned from the nomadic tribes of the steppes of the great nation at the edge of the waters of the east. He traveled to this empire called _Chong-gwoh,_ and there Godric heard tales of the land at the rising of the Sun, home to powerful warriors. He found a ship willing to take him to this land, called _Nihon._

While he was there, Godric encountered a clan of powerful magical warriors, so feared in battle that others called them _shinigami_. Death gods. These warriors were capable of casting powerful spells, even without wands, and their combat prowess was unmatched by any he had ever met. Their greatest weapon, however, was the knowledge of creating swords that were the manifestation of the wielder's "fighting spirit". These blades, known as "Soul-Cutter Swords", held myriad and mysterious powers, different for every wielder. Godric spent two years with these death gods, learning their arts and fighting alongside them, and at the end of his time with them, they offered him the honor of giving him his own soul-cutter."

Gryffindor's gaze fell on the sword in Harry's lap.

"That sword was gifted to Godric by a Goblin craftsman as payment for a life-debt. Rustfang the Swordsmith was renowned by both wizards and his own people for creating swords of the highest caliber. When he presented Godric with that sword, he stated without any hubris that it was the finest sword he had ever made. It was Godric's companion in both battle and peace, and never failed him. He could not find a better weapon to be his soul-cutter."

The great lion's face grew pensive.

"I do not know what happened during the forging process; one of the conditions that was set down was that Godric allow all memory of the secret of creating the soul-cutter to be erased. The end result of the process was that the sword became imbued with the part of Godric's soul that existed for battle, and became a weapon more powerful than he could believe. The remaining five years of his travels could fill volumes, and you wouldn't believe half of it."

Gryffindor paused in his storytelling to give a smile to the rapt Harry.

"Godric eventually found his way to Aryavarta, where he met up with Rowena. They returned to Hogwarts, where they reunited with Helga and Salazar. The rest of their lives are, as they say, history. They founded Hogwarts, and taught there. There were many more adventures, both good and bad, and eventually, one of their number left forever."

The lion's face twisted in anguish.

"They never were the same after Salazar left. Rowena's daughter stole her mother's diadem and fled, and Rowena died of grief soon after. Helga, bless her heart, held on for another five years, and then Godric was the only one left.

"He knew he was not long for the world by that time, and He wanted to leave a legacy. He spent nearly four months communing with his sword, preserving every bit of his knowledge as part of the sword spirit. He left the sword in the hands of Hogwarts, so that when the time was right, the sword would present itself."

Harry interrupted for the first time since the lion had started his tale.

"So, you're the spirit of Godric Gryffindor's sword?"

The lion shook his head.

"Not quite. When Godric Gryffindor died, the part of his soul that inhabited the blade died as well. All that remained was his knowledge and an echo of his personality. There is only one way to preserve a fragment of the soul after death, and it is a most vile art. My form, power, and knowledge are inherited from Godric Gryffindor, but I am part of _your _soul, Harry. I am the part of you that lives for battle, the part of you that is willing to fight a millennial basilisk with nothing but a sword, the part willing to jump onto a troll's back to save a near-total stranger, and the part of you that would face a servant of a Dark Lord alone."

Harry felt a surge of emotion, of gratitude, but, unbidden, another question flew from his lips.

"Then, why is your name Gryffindor?"

The lion chuckled lightly.

"Every soul-cutter has a name, Harry, a name by which they are called into battle by their wielder. It took Godric three years to learn his sword's name. The name of the sword is the representation of everything the sword spirit is and stands for. You are a special wizard indeed, Harry. You are intelligent, loyal, and cunning. Any of the Founders would have been pleased to have you in their house. But in your heart of hearts, Harry, you are a Gryffindor. You will willingly stand on the front lines, leading and protecting those behind you. That is what you truly are Harry, and that is what know yourself to be. Even if you were not consciously aware of it, some part of you has always known what you are, and it was this part of you that heard my name in the Chamber."

For a while, both Harry and Gryffindor were silent, before Harry spoke, his voice very small.

"So now what?"

Gryffindor turned to look out over the sun-drenched plains.

"I will teach you. I am a repository of the knowledge held by Godric Gryffindor at the height of his power. When we are finished, there will be no opponent you cannot defeat. But for now," the lion laid his head onto his paws, "Wake up."

* * *

Harry snapped awake, sitting bolt upright in bed. Through the gap in the curtains, he could see the bright light of midday. Everyone else was fast asleep, but Harry didn't feel tired anymore.

Quietly, he left the dorm room, and climbed down the stairs to the common room. A few other students were sprawled on couches and armchairs, not having made it up to their rooms before falling asleep. Harry made his way over to one of the windows, and sat in an armchair that gave him a view of the outside. Cautiously, Harry reached out with his mind.

_Gryffindor? Are you there?_

_Always, cub. Did you have a question?_

_You're going to teach me how to use…erm, you, right?_

_Yes. _The sword spirit's voice was amused. _That is correct._

_So how am I supposed to do that if I don't have a sword?_

_Call for the sword, and it will answer you._

Accompanying the lion's voice was a sensation of looking at a sword in a sheath. Harry grasped the feeling, and imagined drawing the imaginary sword. He felt his hand clench around a warm handle, and the sword materialized. Harry imagined putting the sword back in its sheath, and the sword vanished again.

"Okay," Harry said after a moment of silence, "That's cool."

* * *

Harry wandered the empty North Wing of Hogwarts, relishing in the quiet. Most of the school population was relaxing in their Common Rooms, still sleeping off the party, or enjoying the sunshine on the grounds.

_You still haven't told me what you're looking for, cub._

_If we're practicing to use a sword, I'm going to need to find a place to swing it without anyone interrupting, so – what's that sound?_

Harry cocked his head slightly, listening.

Someone was crying nearby.

Harry crept towards where the sound was coming from – an alcove overlooking the grounds. Curled up in one corner was a small girl with dirty blonde hair and bare feet. Her back hitched with the occasional sob. Harry coughed awkwardly, and the girl's head snapped around to stare at him, her wide grey eyes damp with tears.

"Erm, hello. I'm – "

"Harry Potter," the girl finished, still staring at him with wide eyes.

"Er, yeah. Are- are you alright? I heard you crying."

The girl's eyes seemed to get even wider, and her mouth opened for a moment, and then closed. Harry sat down opposite her, crossing his legs.

"What's your name?"

She wiped at her eyes with a sleeve. "L-Luna Lovegood. I'm in Ravenclaw."

_Ah. She did strike me as one of Rowena's._

"What are you doing up here in the North Wing?"

"It's the only place where they'll leave me alone."

"They?" Harry asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"T-the older Ravenclaw girls. They d-don't like me much. They take my things and hide them, and keep stealing my homework the night before it's due."

A furious heat built up in Harry's chest, and Gryffindor snarled in disgust.

"Haven't you told Professor Flitwick? What about your yearmates?"

She looked to be on the verge of crying again. "They say that if I tell Flitwick, it will get even worse. And the older girls are in charge of the dormitory, so none of the other First Years want to be my friends."

At that moment, Luna looked so vulnerable and fragile that Harry couldn't help but feel a fierce protectiveness well up inside him. He reached out and gently took one of Luna's hands in his.

"I'll be your friend, Luna. And I promise you, no one will ever try to hurt you again."

She stared at him in abject shock for a moment. "R-really?"

Harry smiled. "Really."

The next thing Harry knew, he was being hugged tightly by the smaller girl, her face buried in his chest.

"Thank you…Harry."

The Gryffindor smiled. "You're welcome, Luna."

_You know, this is the second time within 24 hours that you've been hugged by a distressed younger girl. Is this going to become a pattern, cub?_

_Shut it._

Harry stood, gently pulling Luna with him.

"Come on," he said, "There're a few other people who I want you to meet."

Luna smiled up at him. "Okay."

The two of them left the alcove, Luna sticking as close to Harry as physically possible. Neither of them looked back, and so neither of them noticed something quite remarkable.

Wherever Luna's bare feet touched the stone floors, patches of grass and wildflowers sprung up, only to vanish a few moments later.

* * *

**So, a chapter full of revelations, and discussions. How'd you guys like my Potterverse version of the Zanpakutō? I've put a bit of thought into it, and I felt like it was a pretty good interpretation. Free cookies to anyone who can figure out what Harry's mindscape is based off of. Free brownies for what the different parts that have been shown represent.**

**Godric's journey: will be fun to expand on. Chong-gwoh is a corruption of Zhongguo (China), and Nihon is rather obviously Japan. Aryavarta is an old Sanskrit name for India, and Araby is an old term for the Arabian Peninsula.**

**Luna: I know she's OOC here, but honestly, I always felt like her behavior was her coping mechanism for all the bullying she received. An eleven-year old being picked on? Yeah, she's going to need to cry sometime. I just made it so that Harry met her at her lowest moment. The repercussions of this will definitely change Luna's perspective on things.**

**The next update will take a while, because I need to do work on my other story. Sorry, people. But it won't be too long!**

**Please leave a review, because if you don't, I'll be forced to sic Gryffindor on you. Raaarrrrr.**

**CracktheSkye, out! **


	3. Amicis et Ensis

**Wow. You guys…the response on the second chapter was even better than the first. I just can't stay away from writing this. I'm sorry for those who didn't like the scene with Luna. I wrote it four different ways, and you don't want to see the other three. They're **_**really awful. **_**On the upside, it got me my first criticism (wasn't really a flame) from Guest: "The scene with Luna felt cheap and lazy."  
Thank you Guest! It makes me uneasy when my story doesn't get any criticism. And you're right, I'm not very good at writing emotional scenes. But, I endeavor to improve. That's the point of amateur writing, no? Entertain your readers, and improve your own writing.  
Oh, and before I forget. Every time Gryffindor speaks, I hear Liam Neeson. The man just plays the perfect mentor role. Qui-Gon Jinn, Aslan, Ra's al-Ghul…I'M SORRY IF I'M RIPPING SOMEONE ELSE'S CASTING IDEAS. But seriously, name another guy who does the mentor role so well, regardless of genre.  
Okay, rant over. One last piece of information. Several people commented that they didn't want a Love-at-first-Sight with Luna, or were uncomfortable with Harry/Luna as a pairing. Let me reassure all of you that I have yet to decide what pairing to make this story. It is completely in flux, so don't read **_**too **_**far into scenes in early chapters.  
ON WITH THE SHOW!**

* * *

Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies.

Aristotle

Disclaimer: Nyet.

Book One, Chapter Three: Amicis et Ensis

* * *

2 June, 1993 Hogwarts Castle

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore (And he took great joy in using every consonant of that name at every opportunity), frowned as he prodded the object of his interest with his wand, murmuring cantrip after incantation, stringing together a litany of magic meant to probe the nature of unknown objects.

At long last, the Headmaster gave a sigh, and withdrew his wand.

"Just what did you create, Tom…?" He mused aloud, staring at the ink-covered diary that he had been studying for two days. While Harry had held the rest of the room enraptured with the story of his ordeal in the Chamber, the Headmaster had swapped the book with a conjured copy. The copy had only lasted a few days, long enough for Lucius Malfoy to toss it into the fireplace. (Indeed, the charm attached to the copy had signaled its fiery destruction yesterday evening. For all his supposed Slytherin cunning, Lucius Malfoy could be as predictable as his son at times.)

Dumbledore had spent the majority of his time afterward probing the book, trying to discern what exactly the future Dark Lord had done to leave a personality imprint on a plain Muggle diary. It was fairly easy to create imprints on magically prepared objects – the portraits of Hogwarts were proof enough of that – but to create one out of a simple, entirely unmagical object was incredibly difficult. Tom was gifted, to be sure, but such things were less a process and more an art form, and Tom had never had any patience when it came to learning. It had always been a single-minded drive towards the next spell, the next incantation. As driven as he was, it meant that some fields of magic had been tossed to the wayside by the boy. He had poured his soul into studying magic, but –

Soul.

"No, surely he did not," the Headmaster tried to assure himself. The words felt hollow even as he spoke them.

His hand trembled slightly as he raised his wand again. "_Anima revelio_."

There was a rushing sensation as the spell radiated through his office, a brief pause, and then…

The book glowed faintly, a sickening pitch gleam that turned his stomach, before fading away to its original colors.

Albus recoiled.

"A Horcrux. Oh Tom," he murmured, his voice a mix of sorrow and disgust, "Even then you were…"

Then, something caught his eye. One of the many delicate instruments he had in his office was swinging quite noticeably. With any other instrument, motion was a good sign, but with this one, any motion at all was worrying. Dread building in his chest, Dumbledore picked up the diary, and moved it closer to that particular instrument.

The spinning needle changed its motion, now pointing directly at the diary and spinning about its long axis.

"No…" the Headmaster whispered, his face as pale as his beard.

At that moment, Albus Dumbledore felt very, _very_ old. With a heart feeling like lead, he conjured a box of steel, and placed the diary within it. Eyes blazing with fury, the Headmaster pointed his wand into the box.

"_Fiendfyre."_

The living flames rushed from the tip of his wand, and Albus could feel them struggling against his control, fighting to break free. The fire burned for a scant few seconds, before the aged wizard clamped his will down on the flames, extinguishing them entirely. Nothing was left of the vile relic, save for a few smoldering ashes.

The headmaster slumped into his chair, head bowed. How was he to tell Harry that _he himself_ was a Horcrux? The knowledge that he must die to finish Voldemort off once and for all could break the boy. It would be far better to wait until he had grown a little more. The idea of the deception he would be practicing –_ with a child, no less_ – made the bile rise in Dumbledore's throat. But, for the sake of the rest of the world, he would take the burden of those sins onto his shoulders.

It was only a few more to add to a mountain, after all.

Then, a quiet little voice spoke up in the back of his mind. He could tell Harry, and trust the boy to cope with it. He recognized the voice – it was the one that had whispered in his ear that there was something wrong with Gellert, all those years ago.

He had ignored it then, and the consequences had been devastating.

He thought for a moment about the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry had grown up brilliantly, if a bit withdrawn. Petunia had obviously managed to set aside her bitterness, and raised the boy right. The boy was friendly, did well in his classes (With the exception of Potions and History of Magic), and was loyal to his friends. Moreover, he had survived two lone encounters with the Dark Lord in the past two years, and had triumphed both times. The first time against a full-grown wizard, and the second against a millennial basilisk and an empowered Horcrux.

Harry was strong. He would be able to bear it.

Albus Dumbledore nodded to himself. Before the students went home, Harry would know.

* * *

3 June, 1993 Hogwarts Castle

Harry had gotten up that morning before the sun rose, and, as he had the previous four mornings, quietly slipped out of Gryffindor Tower and down to an abandoned classroom in the North Wing. He closed the door, and summoned Gryffindor from…wherever the sword went when he wasn't using it.

The spirit, as usual, put him through a punishing routine of exercises. Push-ups, sit-ups, kicks, suicides…no muscle avoided the punishment. Only after he was dripping with sweat and gasping for breath did Gryffindor teach him anything.

_You need to be able to use these skills in the middle of the battlefield, Harry. You will be tired and disoriented, and you won't have time to recover yourself._

Gryffindor had said there were four arts of combat practiced by the _Shinigami_. Unarmed Combat (the spirit called it _Hakuda_)seemed to be a combination of several different martial arts, not that Harry knew any, and Gryffindor seemed to take a sadistic glee out of making Harry repeat every single technique until his legs felt like burning lead and his arms were numb. That, and practicing basic sword strokes (Gryffindor called it _Zanjutsu_), was the most exhausting part of Harry's lessons. Fast Movement, or _Hohō_, was something Gryffindor had flat-out refused to teach Harry until he was "good enough to survive hitting walls at inhuman speeds". The last discipline was spells. According to Gryffindor, there were three kinds of spells practiced by Death Gods: Destructive, Binding, and Healing. The most important thing about these spells (_Kidō_ – Demon Arts, Gryffindor had said, then laughed when Harry asked if they actually were demonic) was that they weren't cast with a wand – or any kind of magical focus, actually – they were cast through the hands.

_Alright cub, the first part of using Kidō is finding your magical core. _

The familiar warmth built up in Harry's chest.

_Do you feel that warmth, cub? Grasp it, the same way you call for my sword. _

Harry reached out with a metaphorical hand, and felt for the heat sitting in his chest. He pulled at it – The warmth exploded outward, flowing through his limbs, and tinging his vision a red-gold. A delighted laugh flew from his lips. Harry felt as if he could leap clear over the Astronomy Tower, or maybe wrestle Slytherin's Basilisk again…

_Focus, Harry! _

Harry blinked, and came back to himself. Magic was flowing off of his body like liquid fire, and the air seemed to shimmer with heat. Frantically, the Gryffindor tried to pull his magic back within himself, but it was like trying to hold back a river with a sieve.

_It is your magic, Harry! Do not hold it back! Direct it as you wish it to do!_

Harry clenched his eyes shut, and _willed_ the magic to withdraw into his body. At first, it fought him, like a petulant child; it didn't want to be restrained again! It wanted to move, to act, to do what it was meant to do! Gradually, though, the red-gold fire bent to his will, slowly sinking back into him. It did not return to a single spot in his chest, though. The fiery warmth sang through his veins, bringing a smile to his face. Gryffindor radiated approval.

_That was the hardest part cub. Western wizards are not accustomed to casting without a focus; from the moment they consciously practice magic they use a wand, and their core is held in place. This is safer than casting with an unbound core, but less flexible. The most powerful of Western wizards may be able to force their magic to obey their commands without a wand, but even then it requires that they use a focus, usually a hand. Eastern magic needs no focus, and thus can be manipulated more freely. There were some Shinigami that were capable of creating new Kido spells in the midst of battle, simply because they were able to shape their magic to accomplish what they needed. Western magicians sometimes need years to develop new spells._

Harry nodded. _Okay, so why was I able to…unbind my core?_

_That is one of the effects of the enchantments that were reforged into the Sword. Because I am not just bound to your soul, but your magic, and so I can help you loosen the bonds your magic created around itself. _

_Will I still be able to use my wand?_

_Of course, Harry. Your wand will not abandon you because you have a new ally._

_Abandon?_

_The wand chooses the wizard, cub._

_That's what Ollivander said!_

_Ollivander? Was he an old man, large eyes, pale skin, tangled white hair, and liked to act like a Seer?_

_Yes…Do you know him?_

_Never heard of him. _The lion abruptly changed the subject._ Now, the first Kidō spell is incredibly simple: it has no incantation, and can be cast through a single finger, even by a beginner. Now, repeat after me:_

Harry raised his right arm, holding out his index finger towards a spare desk. Concentrating for a moment, he directed his magic into that finger.

"Way of Destruction Number One: Thrust!"

The magic pulsed outward, striking the desk. The old piece of furniture lifted off of the ground like a leaf in a tempest, and slammed into the pile of desks at the other end. The desks shattered, and fell to the floor as a pile of splintered wood.

Harry stared at the wreckage. Gryffindor sent Harry an image of the lion covering his eyes with a paw.

_Cub…._

"Er…oops?"

* * *

"So…Hermione?" Harry asked awkwardly at breakfast. Ron and Luna looked up from their own food at his hesitant tone.

"Yes Harry?"

"I have a hypothetical question for you."

The bushy-haired girl perked up. "Okay."

"Say, just hypothetically, that someone was hypothetically in a hypothetical abandoned classroom, and a hypothetical desk, just happened to , er hypothetically fall apart, hypothetically of course –"

"Harry," Hermione cut in, "We've already established the fact that this is hypothetical."

"Right…er…so I was wondering…how hard would it be to, erm…fix the desks?"

Hermione's eyebrow rose. "I thought there was only one desk?"

"Well, there may have been…five or six desks…" The raven-haired boy trailed off.

"You okay mate? You look a mite bit…ill." Ron sounded concerned.

"Harry…what did you do?"

Harry cringed slightly at Hermione's tone. "I…mayhavekindofbrokenthedesksp racticingaspell."

Hermione covered her face with a hand. Ron stared. Luna giggled at their expressions. "What spell were you practicing, Harry?"

"Er...I'll show you later."

This wasn't enough for Hermione, and the brown-haired witch began pestering him for information. Harry resolutely withstood her interrogation, shifting the conversation to next year's electives. Hermione had, against Harry and Ron's urges, decided to take all of the available courses. Harry and Ron had both picked Divination and Care of Magical Creatures, which Ron argued was a much more reasonable schedule than the impossibility that Hermione's would be.

"Really Hermione! You're going to have to be in two places at once! You're brilliant, but that's impossible!"

"Oh, it's not that hard," Luna piped up, "Being in two places at once, that is."

Ron stopped, his fork halfway to his mouth, staring at Luna. The blonde Ravenclaw cringed, sure she had just managed to alienate herself again, but Ron simply cocked an eyebrow after a moment. "How do you figure?"

"Well," she began with relief, "If you can have two persons in one place, why not have one person in two places?"

Ron blinked. "That…actually makes sense."

"Oh, be reasonable Ronald," Hermione countered. "Having the same person in more than one body is called _possession_."

"But you have to admit, it still counts as being in two places at once." The Weasley argued back.

Luna felt a strange warmth as she watched her friends – _friends! _– bicker lightly with each other. In a few short days, the Gryffindor table had become more of a home than Ravenclaw tower had ever been. She still half-expected to wake up in her dorm, the last few days nothing but a dream. Harry nudged her with his elbow, smiling. "Thinking deep thoughts, Luna?"

She smiled back. "Not really, I'm just…so happy."

And she was. She felt as if she could lift right off the ground if she wanted to, without so much a levitation spell. The Great Hall seemed even more lively and colorful than usual, and Luna couldn't help the smile stretching further and further across her face.

"Well, well, Potter. And here I thought you couldn't get any more pathetic. Not just a Blood Traitor and a Mudblood, but now you've added Loony Lovegood."

Draco Malfoy had been surprisingly silent for the last few days, but it looked like the school's reprieve from the Slytherin's mouth was at an end. Harry, to his credit, didn't even turn around to look at the Malfoy.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron spat, bristling defensively. The Slytherin ignored him.

"What's the matter, Potter? Cat got your tongue? Or are you as tired of having Loony next to you as everyone else and won't admit it?"

Luna flinched as if she had been struck, and shrank in on herself. Was it true? Did Harry feel the same way everyone else did?

Harry stiffened at Malfoy's remarks, then gently and deliberately set down his fork on the table. Still not turning to face him, the Gryffindor answered.

"Her name is Luna, _Malfoy_, and I would thank you to use it. I don't like it when people insult my friends." There was a warning tone in Harry's voice, one that Malfoy, apparently, didn't pick up on.

"I'll call them whatever I like, _Potter_¸ and the fact that you call these pieces of trash your friends only proves that you –"

But at the word 'trash', Luna saw Harry's entire body tense. She glanced at his face. His mouth had thinned into a narrow line, and his jaw was tight with anger – had his eyes just flashed gold for a moment?

Slowly, Harry got up, and turned to face the Slytherin and his cronies, his fist trembling.

"Draco, I will give you one warning. Walk. Away. Now. Before I do something you'll regret."

The Slytherin faltered slightly at the positively lethal glare in Harry's eyes, but he kept pushing, trying to get Harry to react. Getting the Gryffindor in trouble, after his father's disgrace, was the least he could do…

"What are you going to do, Potter? Tell a teacher? Or are you going to hit yourself with a slug spell – oh wait, that's Weasley's job. Maybe you'll get Loony to help you cry in a corner? I can't say I'm – "

The blonde Slytherin was cut off abruptly by a feeling of intense heat and pressure. It felt as if he was being crushed under a massive weight and being baked in an oven all at once. He, Crabbe, and Goyle all broke out in sweat, and the two larger boys took a half-step backwards.

Luna too, felt it, but for her, it was not a smothering, all-consuming heat. It felt like the friendly warmth of a campfire; it was both comforting and encouraging. She found herself standing up, facing the Slytherins. Malfoy was nothing but a bully, and an annoyingly loud one at that. Out of the corners of her eyes, she spotted Ron and Hermione rising to their feet as well. If their expressions were anything to go by, they, too, felt the strange warmth. The big surprise, though, was when, from a few places down the table, _Neville Longbottom _stood up, looking more aggressive than even Ron did.

"Malfoy." Neville's voice didn't quaver in the slightest. "No one wants to hear your noise. Sod. _Off_."

The Great Hall was dead silent. A majority of the students (and even a few of the Professors) were openly gaping. Neville "Cowardly Lion" Longbottom had just told _Draco Malfoy_ to get lost. The only ones who seemed unaffected were the Gryffindors (and Luna) in the immediate vicinity of Harry, who all had turned their glares on the blonde Slytherin.

Malfoy's mouth flapped uselessly for a moment, before he spun on his heel and stalked off, trying to preserve any shreds of dignity he had left. Crabbe and Goyle fled after him, looking more cowed than people of that size had a right to be.

The silence lasted for only a few seconds after that, as conversation crept back into the hall, and the students at the Gryffindor table took their seats. Ron stared hard at his best mate, as if trying to read Harry's mind without Legilimency. Luna thought his expression was quite funny (although she didn't tell him that).

"Harry…what the bloody hell was that?"

Harry was quiet for a moment, his eyes staring at nothing in particular, before answering. "I'll tell you about it after dinner tonight. The fourth classroom on the left side on the fourth floor of the North Wing."

Everyone nodded.

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," Ron managed, his eyes wide. "The Sword of Gryffindor – which you pulled out of the Sorting Hat – has a spirit inside it that looks like a giant lion, and knows everything Godric Gryffindor knew?"

"Erm…yeah."

"…Wicked."

Harry blinked, as Hermione, Luna, and Ron all spoke in unison. Gryffindor chuckled.

_You have good friends, cub. To accept such a truth so easily…_

The lion's voice suddenly changed tones. _Wait a moment…Homenum Revelio._

Harry felt a pulse of his own magic rush outward, and all his friends were briefly illuminated in glowing colors – Hermione was a pale blue, Ron an orange-crimson, and Luna a strange off-white. The pulse rippled outward farther, and a fourth person was illuminated, standing out in the corridor. Harry raised an eyebrow at the familiarity of the deep brown-red magic.

"You can come in now, Neville."

There was a startled yelp from outside, before the door creaked open, and the Gryffindor sheepishly stepped into the room.

"How did you notice?"

"Lucky guess," Harry fibbed smoothly. Luna glanced sidelong at him, and Harry could tell she wasn't fooled in the least. "How much did you hear?"

"Well, everything."

Harry affixed Neville with a sharp look. "You know that if you tell anyone…"

Neville nodded, surprisingly serious. "Harry…that sword, whatever it did when you stood up to Malfoy… I wasn't afraid of him. I felt…brave. That feeling hasn't gone away, either. I don't want to give that up. You can trust me, Harry."

Harry blinked. _….What did you do to him, Gryffindor?_

_I did nothing, cub. Your magic is imbued with your bravery, your determination, and your will. When you allowed it to escape your body and have an effect on those around you, it apparently inspired courage in those around you._

_Huh…that is interesting._

"So Gryffindor plans to teach you, Harry?" Hermione enquired, forehead scrunched in thought. At Harry's nod, she continued. "Is there a reason? Besides just learning new magic I mean."

Ron and Harry both raised an eyebrow. "Hermione Granger is asking if there is another reason besides learning? What is the world coming to?"

Hermione flushed slightly and swatted at Harry's arm. "Oh, stuff it."

Harry grinned impishly. "Well, there is one other reason. Lord Far-Too-Many-Pseudonyms. I ran into him last year. He was possessing Quirrel then, so I figure he'll eventually find another idiot to possess. When he does, he'll come after me. I want to be as ready as possible; maybe I can kill him enough that he'll stay dead."

Ron swallowed hard. "You're going to go after him, mate? You're mental, you know."

Harry stared right back at him. "What's your point?"

"…is there room for a Weasley on this crazy carpet of yours?"

Hermione grinned. "Count me in, Harry."

"I'll help too!" Luna chimed in.

Neville was quiet for a moment, traces of his old lack of confidence flickering across his face, before he, too, nodded.

"You can count on me."

Harry looked at his friends. He had just told them that he was basically planning to take on the darkest wizard Britain had ever seen, and they had all said they would follow him, with barely any hesitation. His eyes slightly wet, he smiled back.

_Good friends indeed, cub. Good friends indeed._

* * *

**And CUT! So, good chapter? I know a lot of you will be annoyed by this chapter, specifically my portrayal of Dumbledore, and probably how quickly Neville gained courage. To address those: First of all, Neville has demonstrated that he has a core of steel underneath all the shyness and self-doubt, it just took a while (and being a member of La Resistance) to bring it to the front. Harry's magic, as Gryffindor said, has actual effect on those around him – it's sort of (read: almost exactly) like **_**reiatsu**_**, (spiritual pressure) yet another Bleach concept. His foes feel like they're being smothered by pressure and heat, while his allies have their courage bolstered. This kick-started Neville's Inner Gryffindor. He won't start roundhouse-kicking Snape in the face, but he will certainly be better than his canon counterpart.**

**Dumbledore. A character who has been portrayed as everything from saint to demon. It's my belief that despite all his manipulations, Dumbledore genuinely wants good for others. That aside, I think that he also loathes himself. We see in the books that he has never forgiven himself for his little sister's death, and I'm willing to bet that every sacrifice he has made since then weighs on him. He continues to manipulate because he wants to avoid staining the consciences of others with the sins that come from fighting evil. He who fights monsters, and all that. Anyway, this Dumbledore is making a different decision, resulting from discovering Harry's Horcrux earlier than canon. He certainly isn't a saint, but he's trying to do better.**

**And the fifth member of Harry's little band joins up. Next chapter: a meeting with Dumbledore, and Harry demonstrates that wizards do indeed lack logic.**

**Authors are lot like Dementors, except we live off reviews, and we (usually) don't suck the happiness out of the room. FEED ME!**

**Here's hoping you all had a wonderful holiday, and a Happy New Year!**

**CracktheSkye, out!**


	4. Veritas et Ensis

**Well, another day, another lack of dollars. Last chapter got a nice response. I'm glad that people liked what I started with Neville. By the way, several people have now guessed it: Harry's inner world is indeed based on Pride Rock from the Lion King. Naaaaaaaaants ingonyaaaaaaaaaama bagithi baba…right, sorry. The reason isn't just because of Gryffindor. There is a meaning to the inner world's component parts. A few people were concerned about Harry still taking Divination. Don't worry; he still has time to change courses. As a matter of fact…**

* * *

The Wind began to rock the Grass  
With threatening Tunes and low—  
He threw a Menace at the Earth—  
A Menace at the Sky.

Emily Dickinson

Disclaimer: Every time someone says they don't own Harry Potter, a puppy somewhere dies. The number of dogs in heaven has just increased by one.

Book One, Chapter Four: Veritas et Ensis

* * *

June 13, 1993 Hogwarts Castle

_Direct my magic…shape it…and expel it!_

"Way of Destruction Number Eleven: Bound Lightning!" Harry cried.

He felt his magic surge into motion, and yellow energy crackled around his hands. Slowly, he reached out and touched a piece of wood lying on the floor. There was a brief sizzle, followed by a loud snap-crack as the wood exploded. Harry covered his face with his arm, shielding himself from the blast. A few chips of wood bounced off his torso and arms, but none did any serious damage.

"Whoa."

_Indeed, cub. These low level Kidō spells aren't very powerful, but they usually are more useful in many scenarios._

Harry raised an incredulous eyebrow as he lowered his arm, looking at the singed, blackened remains of the wood.

_Not powerful? Gryffindor, if I hit someone with this…_

_They would most likely die, yes. And these are still the weakest of Kidō spells. _

Harry's eyes widened. _So the higher spells are even more powerful?_

Gryffindor's voice was dead serious. _In the hands of a powerful user, the strongest of the Hadō could reduce this castle to rubble in mere moments, Harry. _

Harry was quiet for a long moment as the realization of what he was learning sunk in, before a voice broke through his train of thought.

"Harry?"

The Gryffindor jumped, turning to look at the door. Luna and Hermione had stuck their heads through, and both looked slightly anxious.

"You'll be late for breakfast if you don't stop soon, Harry."

Harry cocked his head, and pulled out his wand, swishing it and announcing _Tempus_ under his breath. A clock face appeared in front of him, and he nearly yelped at how late in the morning it was. He frantically sheathed Gryffindor and dashed out the door.

* * *

_Cub, I have a question for you._

_What is it, Gryffindor?_ Harry responded as he buttered a piece of toast.

_Why did you pick Divination?_

_Er…well, I hear it wasn't too difficult a course, and Ron's taking it as well…_

_I see. _The lion's tone made it clear that he disapproved. _I want you to drop Divination –_

_What?!_

– _and pick a more practical course. I can tell you right now, you are going to find little use with the ways that diviners and Seers predict the future. You have almost zero potential for it. Don't take insult,_ the lion amended. _Godric and Salazar both lacked even the slightest talent in predicting the future. You would be better served taking Runes. It is a more difficult course, yes, but its applications are nearly endless._

Harry began to protest, but Gryffindor cut him off sharply before he could even form a coherent thought. _This is not up for discussion, cub. You _will _drop Divination, you _will_ take Runes, _AND YOU WILL LIKE IT.

If it was possible to quail in one's own mind, Harry was doing it. _Y-yes, Gryffindor._

The lion's voice was now unmistakably smug. _Good._

* * *

The knock at her office door caused Professor McGonagall to look up from the stack of parchmentwork on her desk with a slight sigh of relief. As much as she enjoyed order and propriety, the sheer monotony of preparing all the proper documentation for next year's class grew tiresome. Doubly so when she realized that the incoming class was nearly three times larger than any class in the past eleven years. The war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had decimated Wizarding Britain, but a little over nine months after the Dark Lord's defeat, they had experienced a –what was the American term? – "Baby boom", a side effect of the celebrations following the events that transpired on Samhain 1981.

"Come in."

The door creaked slightly, just as she liked it to. That way, no one could enter her room without her noticing. It was maybe a bit paranoid, but old habits die hard, and the habits you fell into during war die even harder.

Hesitantly, as though approaching an Inquisitional Judge, a head of tousled black hair stuck through the door. A set of green eyes followed the mop of hair.

"Er, am I interrupting anything, Professor?"

"Not all Mr. Potter. Do come in."

The second-year Gryffindor obeyed, closing the door behind him. Even now, he looked somewhat apprehensive of his Head of House. Minerva folded her hands in front of her, and peered over her spectacles at him.

"Was there something you needed, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes Professor. I was wondering," Harry swallowed, "would- would it be possible for me to change electives for next year?"

The Transfiguration teacher arched an eyebrow only slightly. "What elective, Mr. Potter?"

The black-haired boy was quiet for a moment, and then his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, as if in resignation, before answering. "I'd like to switch Divination for Ancient Runes."

Had Minerva been a woman with less restraint, she probably would have jumped up with a victorious shout. As it was, her eyes warmed slightly, and the corners of her mouth twitched upwards.

"Are you sure you wish to change courses, Mr. Potter? Divination is a…popular course here at Hogwarts, and you may find it…useful in your future."

And that, Professor McGonagall reflected sardonically, was the biggest load of cack that she had uttered in years. But far be it from her to deny her students a chance to change their mind – even if she didn't want them to.

"Very sure professor."

McGonagall felt a familiar ache in her chest at the expression on the young wizard's face. The resolve, the stubbornness… it was pure James. Her eyes watered ever so slightly, but she swallowed the tears, and addressed the boy who was so like his parents.

"It is rather fortunate that you came to speak with me, Mr. Potter. Headmaster Dumbledore requested that if I was to see you today, I was to notify you that he wishes to speak with you in his office. The password at the moment is, I believe, Lines of Lots of Lorries Loaded with Ludicrously Long Lengths of Lovely Luscious Liquorice."

The Gryffindor's brow furrowed for a moment. "Lines of Lots of Lorries Loaded with Ludicrously Long Lengths of Lovely Luscious Liquorice?"

Professor McGonagall's lips twitched. "Yes, Lines of Lots of Lorries Loaded with Ludicrously Long Lengths of Lovely Luscious Liquorice."

Harry nodded hesitantly. "Thank you, Professor."

"My pleasure, Mr. Potter."

The second year made his exit, and Minerva went back to her work with a slight smile on her face.

* * *

_What do you think Dumbledore wants to speak with me about?_

Gryffindor was quiet for a moment, before replying. His voice was dead serious.

_I have a hunch. I just hope I'm wrong cub._

Harry tried asking Gryffindor what he meant, but the lion didn't respond. Minutes later, Harry was at the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Right…what was the password again? Erm…Lines of Lots of Lorries Loaded with Ludicrously Long Lengths of Lovely Luscious Liquorice."

_I can't believe I just said that._

There was a flash of humour from the sword spirit, but nothing more. Now even more nervous, Harry climbed the staircase into the Headmaster's remarkable office. Fawkes trilled a greeting from his perch, and the Headmaster turned from his place at the window to smile tiredly at Harry.

"Harry. It is good to see you again." The white-bearded wizard gestured with a hand. "Please, take a seat."

With growing trepidation, Harry obliged, followed shortly by Dumbledore himself. The old man laced his fingers together and rested them on the large, ornate desk between the two wizards.

"Did you enjoy the password, Harry?"

Harry blinked. "Erm…yes sir."

"Yes, I find that the added alliterative appeal abrogates any aggressive attitude those who attend my appointments may have accidentally acquired." Dumbledore chuckled slightly at the deer-in-the-headlights expression on Harry's face, before sobering once again. "But…that is not why I've called you here."

"Sir?"

"You have asked me, Harry, why Lord Voldemort targeted your family when you were a child. As you probably suspected, it was no random act of violence. He came to your house with a specific target in mind; you."

Harry nodded. This he had expected.

"The reason, I'm afraid, is a bit convoluted. You see, shortly before you were born, I was conducting an interview for a teaching position, Divination, as it would happen, when the woman whom I was interviewing entered a Sibylline Trance, and made a prophecy. A prophecy that concerned Lord Voldemort." Dumbledore took a breath. "_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..._"

The room seemed to chill for a moment, and the drapes by the closed window fluttered in a nonexistent breeze. Harry shuddered. It felt as if someone had just stepped over his grave. Dumbledore looked very old in that moment.

"You have, of course, heard of self-fulfilling prophecies, Harry?"

"Yes sir."

"What many people fail to grasp about divination is that _every _prophecy is self-fulfilling. When a prophecy is made, it is greatly dependent upon who hears it, and if they believe it. If they do not believe in the prophecy, if they simply discount its possibility of coming true, then the predicted event will not happen. Prophecies, after all, are a glimpse of a single possible future.

"However, if anyone who hears the prophecy lends it even slight credence, then their magic will anchor the flow of time to that prophecies future. In effect, they make the prophecy come true. Even if they try to prevent it, the mere fact that they _believe_ the prophecy _could_ come true gives it power. What is worse, though, is that the more powerful the magic of any person who hears it, the greater power the prophecy has. An appropriate analogy would be the question 'If a tree falls in the forest, but no one is there to hear it, does it make a noise?'

"The answer is that, for all intents and purposes, no, it does not make a noise. But if someone hears it, then it did make a noise. And if that person tells another person that they heard the tree fall, and the other person believes them, then, by proxy, they too have heard the tree fall. This is why true Seers do not remember the prophecies they make. It is the prophecy's way of giving us a fair chance to prevent it from happening. On the other hand, _no _prophecy is made when no one else is around to hear it. And unfortunately, I was not the only one who heard that prophecy. An agent of Lord Voldemort overheard part of the prophecy, and informed his Master. Both of them believed it, and so the prophecy became set in stone. You must be the one to defeat Voldemort, Harry."

Harry thought for a moment, and then shrugged slightly.

"Well, I expected that, sir. I mean, he probably would have come after me anyways, eventually."

Dumbledore nodded gravely, though there was a hint of pride in his eyes at Harry's calm acceptance, before continuing.

"It will not, I fear, be as easy as meeting him in battle or sticking him with a knife. Voldemort has chosen a path that even Dark Wizards do not tread. He has made Horcruxes."

Within Harry, Gryffindor growled, a low, menacing noise.

"Horcruxes, sir?"

"Among the vilest magics of our world. A Horcrux is essentially a container in which a wizard stores a fragment of their soul. This fragment anchors them to the living world, so that even if they should be killed, they would not truly die. What makes it so vile is what must be done in order to split off that fragment of soul: cold, calculated murder of an innocent."

"An innocent?"

"A child, Harry. The younger, the better."

The office was dead quiet for a long moment, as Harry's face slowly formed into an expression of absolute revulsion.

"And this is not the worst of his crimes, either. Voldemort has made more than one of these. One of them," Dumbledore paused a moment, "has already been destroyed."

"Sir?"

"The diary of Tom Riddle, Junior was the first Horcrux he ever made, done while he was still a student here. When you stabbed it with the fang of Slytherin's basilisk, you destroyed the soul within it. There are very few ways to destroy a Horcrux, Harry. The original creator of the vessel can destroy it. Basilisk venom, the ultimate poison, can do it. A magical fire of high enough temperature can as well. Fiendfyre, dragonfire, and active volcanoes can all accomplish this."

"Volcanoes?"

"Volcanoes are a manifestation of the power within the Earth, Harry. They are extremely powerful magical locations. Magical items wrought in volcanoes can only be destroyed by volcanoes."

"Like Mount Doom?"

"Ah yes, John's books. He was an impressive Unspeakable. One of the best in decades, from what I hear."

Before Harry could digest what Dumbledore had just said, the Headmaster continued.

"The reason I tell you these things, Harry, is that a Horcrux vessel need not be an actual vessel. It could be an old jewel, an ancient relic, a magical animal…even a person," he finished, looking directly at Harry.

A sinking feeling made itself known in the pit of Harry's stomach.

"What do you mean, Professor?"

"Harry," Dumbledore swallowed, his expression pained, "You are a Horcrux."

Harry froze as his gut dropped straight through the floor. Sound and color seemed to drain away. There was no point in responding _cub?_ to Dumbledore's soundless concern, because Harry was _Cub!_ going to have to die to kill Voldemort

_CUB!_

Gryffindor's shout broke through the downward spiral of Harry's thoughts, and color and sound snapped back into his world.

"-arry? Are you alright?"

Harry didn't respond, his thoughts running at high speed for a long moment, before he looked back at the concerned Headmaster.

"Professor, you said basilisk venom can destroy Horcruxes?"

"Yes."

"And phoenix tears can counteract basilisk venom?"

"Yes…"

"Professor, I still have the fang I used to stab the diary. And you have Fawkes."

Dumbledore stared at Harry for nearly a full minute, before smacking himself in the face with his own hand. Harry blinked, before managing to open his mouth.

"Shall I go get the fang, sir?"

"Please do, Harry. I will meet you in the infirmary."

Harry nodded, before making a hasty retreat. For a while after he left, the only sound in the office was the sound of the "bits and bobs", as Hagrid called them, as they merrily whistled and hummed along.

"Fawkes, my friend…" Dumbledore slowly stood up and made his way towards the door. The phoenix fluttered off his perch and followed.

"I am an idiot."

* * *

_Are you sure about this, cub?_ Gryffindor asked, as Harry bounded back down the stairs to his Common Room, the fang wrapped up in one of Vernon's old socks.

_Absolutely. If there is a part of Voldemort's soul stuck in my forehead, I WANT IT OUT._

_I understand, but…this is risky. Basilisk venom is not the sort of thing that you ever want in your system for longer than a few seconds. _

_What happened to "Gryffindors Forward?"_

_It's the House of the Brave, cub. Not the House of the Borderline-Suicidal._

_You say poh-tay-toh, I say poh-tah-toh…_

* * *

Harry entered the Hospital Wing to the sight of a disapproving Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall arguing with the Headmaster.

"-madness, Albus! You can't tell me you are seriously considering allowing Mister Potter to poison himself with basilisk venom a second time! Even to excise such an abomination!"

"I understand your hesitation, Minerva, but this is Harry's decision. If he chooses to take this risk, far be it from me to forbid him from it."

"Headmaster, we are speaking of _basilisk venom_. It is every venom perfected; neurotoxin, hæmotoxin, thaumatoxin, and necrotoxin all in one. Mister Potter was lucky in the Chamber; had Fawkes been mere seconds slower, he would have died. This can't be the only way to remove a spirit. What about that Walker child you met a few years ago, Albus?"

"Regretfully, Allen is beyond my ability to contact him, and even if he was here, this is beyond simple exorcism. This is the only option we have. Unless you'd rather have Harry walk into a dragon's lair and hope that the flame only hits his scar? Or perhaps perform soul-surgery with Fiendfyre?"

Pomfrey flinched, but nodded her consent. Without turning around, Dumbledore continued.

"Come, Harry. Madam Pomfrey has already prepared a bed for you."

"Against my better judgment." She answered, glaring at Harry as though it was the greatest inconvenience in the world that he had forced her to prepare a bed.

Harry quailed slightly under the gaze of the Healer, but sat himself on the bed, and carefully extricated the fang, blunted end first, from the sock.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled slightly. "I see that you also appreciate just how many uses a sock can serve, Harry. That may be one of the most important lessons you ever learn in life."

Harry, Pomfrey, and McGonagall all stared for a moment at the Headmaster, before Gryffindor spoke up.

_He is trying to be humourous, cub, to relieve some of their anxiety._

_Ohh…_

Harry smiled at the Headmaster, then offered the fang to Madam Pomfrey. She took it gingerly with her fingers, holding it like one would hold a particularly repulsive insect. Dumbledore produced a clear vial of what Harry gathered to be phoenix tears, and set it on the tray next to the bed. Harry laid back on the bed, and Dumbledore began casting spells with his wand.

"The moment we detect that the Horcrux has been destroyed, we will apply the tears, Harry. If the fragment is not gone before three minutes passes, we will apply the tears anyway, and hope that the venom will still destroy it before it is canceled by the tears."

Harry nodded at the Healer, and then glanced at Dumbledore.

"Are you ready, Harry?"

The Gryffindor gave a weak grin. "I was born ready, Professor."

Madam Pomfrey lowered the fang, and cut across Harry's scar. There was the slight pain of the cut, but nothing more.

"Huh." Harry mused. "That wasn't so –"

* * *

"Bad?" he finished, looking around . "Bloody hell."

He was once again in his mindscape, but it was no longer the idyllic, sunlit world of before. A cold wind gusted across the darkened plains around the great rock formation, and lightning flashed in black clouds overhead. In the distance, a grey curtain betrayed the approaching rain.

"What's happening here?"

"The fragment of Voldemort's soul is struggling to maintain its toehold within you, Harry." Gryffindor's calm voice made Harry turn on the spot, to see the great lion padding out onto the spur of rock. "The basilisk venom unseated it from its original spot in your scar, but it is has not yet been forced completely from your soul. Your own soul and magic are rejecting it, but it has gathered enough strength for one last gambit. When that rain reaches us…" Gryffindor glared out at the storm, which was growing closer by the second, "We will have to fight it off."

"We?"

"Well, you actually."

"Me?"

"This is your soul, Harry. I am a part of it, but only you can decide what stays and what goes."

"Can't you help?"

"I can force the soul to take a coherent form, but other than that? No."

"Not even using your powers?"

Gryffindor smiled slightly. "Ah, but therein lies the loophole. It is your soul, Harry. All parts of your soul are yours to do with as you will. Including me."

Harry felt a weight press against his left hip. A glance down revealed his Sword, slung from a leather sword-belt. A soft hum came from the blade. A smile found its way onto his face, and his right hand drew the sword with a quiet sliding sound.

"Remember, Harry, that as twisted and malformed as his soul may be, Voldemort is still as cunning as the snakes he is so attached to. Be wary."

Harry nodded, and, on a whim, leapt from the edge of the rock, landing lightly on the grass of the plain. The wind began to pick up, and the long grass rustled like a thousand hushed voices. The gusts that rode before the approaching curtain carried a foul scent of rot and decay. The skies grew even darker, until it was almost as if night had fallen over the plains.

Harry felt the Sword warm in his hand, and all at once, his senses exploded. He could hear the sound of the raindrops as they fell through the air, the _plop-plop _as those raindrops struck the ground. The rumbles of thunder were as the beat of a great drum, and the rustling of each blade of grass was like a wave breaking on the shoreline. Even in the near darkness, Harry could see the long grass as it rippled violently with the building wind. Had anyone been there to watch, they would have seen Harry's eyes glowing gold.

The wind built to a screaming apex, the curtain of torrential rain now less than a football pitch away. Beneath the sound of the wind, Harry's newly sensitive ears picked up the sound of…_something_ moving through the tall grass, growing closer and closer with every passing moment.

And then, the rain was upon him. Great fat drops of water pelted from the heavens, and the ground went almost instantly from slightly damp but firm to an utter mud pit.

There was a brief pause as the rain cascaded like a waterfall, and then a great, sinuous mass of black erupted from the grasses and lunged at him. Without really thinking about it, Harry wove to one side, the Sword lashing out in an arc of red-gold light, catching the dark shape on its side. It reared back, its long body just barely visible against the sky, a furious _sound_ issuing from it. It sounded like the unholy union between a snake's hiss, an infant's scream, and nails on a chalkboard. There was a flash of lightning, and it briefly illuminated the creature.

The body was that of a massive serpent, but the tail bore ugly spikes like those on a porcupine. The head was a horrible cross between a human face and a snake's snout, with slitted red eyes and jagged, uneven teeth that would have looked more at home on a shark than in a snake's mouth. Quick as a flash, the abomination's head lunged forward, fangs bared. Harry sidestepped again, and the fangs missed by less than an inch. Harry sprang backwards, narrowly avoiding the next strike of the head. His left hand came up, tracing a glowing red sigil in the air.

"Disintegrate, you black dog of Rondanini! Look upon yourself with horror and then claw out your own throat! Way of Binding Number Nine: Strike!"

The manifestation of Voldemort's soul fragment froze in place, outlined in red energy. Harry darted forward, slashing the sword across the underside of the abomination. There was a brief spray of liquid – black and tarlike – before the wound closed, almost as quickly as it had been made.

Harry barely had time to curse in his head before the binding spell came undone, and the snake lunged at him again. On instinct, the Sword came up, intercepting the deadly fangs mere inches from Harry's face. The serpent's weight bore down on the blade, stopped only by Harry's straining arms. There was a blur in the corner of Harry's eye, and then the tail, with a force like a battering ram, slammed into Harry.

Harry choked back a scream as one of the ugly spikes dug into his side, but he couldn't help crying out as he slammed into the ground, skidding through the mud. The fragment hissed in triumph, rearing back to deliver another blow. Harry's hand, though, was already held out in front of him, fingers curled towards himself.

"Awaken still night waters! Ripple in the wind and shatter the moon's reflection! Way of Binding Number Eight: Repulsion!"

A blue sphere appeared a few inches from the back of Harry's hand, and not a second too soon. The head of the snake came down, eyes glowing with triumph, and struck the sphere with the speed of a derailing train. The blue globe exploded outward, tossing the abomination backward as easily as a child would a ragdoll.

Harry pulled himself to his feet as quickly as he could. The hand that held his sword was trembling, but he ignored it. He reached inward and found the flames that were his magic, and pulled it outward.

"Roar, Gryffindor!"

The blade blazed gold and crimson, much as it had in the Chamber. Tongues of magical fire danced along the edges, hissing as falling raindrops struck them and evaporated.

Warily, the abomination and the Gryffindor circled each other. The serpent hissed threateningly, and Harry found himself baring his teeth in a snarl.

"Come on, you stupid snake! COME ON!"

The serpent's eyes burned with rage, and it lunged. Harry took a single step forward, swinging the blade up from his left hip to above his right shoulder. There was a slight feeling of resistance, like the Sword had passed through water, and a pained scream-hiss that cut off halfway through. Then there were two heavy thuds, as the serpent's body, followed closely by its severed head, fell to the ground. The tail twitched once, then was still.

Harry slumped to the ground, exhausted. The rain almost instantly began to diminish, until it was nothing more than a drizzle from fast-clearing skies.

"Well done, Harry. Well done indeed."

Gryffindor was very clearly smiling as he padded down from the rock. Harry offered a tired smile in return. A sizzling sound drew their attention to where the remains of the soul were lying.

Harry blinked. The body and head of the soul fragment were dissolving rather rapidly into a puddle of the same black ichor that the diary and the snake itself had bled. In only a few moments, the abomination had vanished, leaving behind a single, curved fang. Gryffindor considered it for a long moment, before chuckling.

"As above, so below! I see! Rowena would have a field day with this!"

"What?"

For a moment, Harry could have sworn that Professor Dumbledore had found his way into Harry's mind, so bright was the twinkle in the lion's eye.

"Nothing, cub, nothing at all…"

"Gryffindor!"

* * *

**Whew! Done! This chapter was **_**hard**_** to write, especially the reveal session with Dumbledore. But this is an important chapter, both in what happens, and what it will be setting up for. The battle within Harry was actually pretty hard to write, without making it identical to the basilisk fight. I feel like I did a pretty good job with it. Also, what do you think about my twist on prophecy? How about the chant for Bakudō Eight? I tried to make it match the theme of Bakudō Nine, and reflect the language typical of most Kidō.**

**Next chapter will wrap up second year, and start off the summer, but that chapter may be a while in coming. Despite the fact that I'm a second semester senior, my teachers have decided to pile on the workload for the next few weeks. Sorry. Let me reassure you, though, that I will NEVER CANCEL A STORY. The files are almost always sitting actively on my computer, and I try to write when I can. So it's never on hiatus, either. **

**Now…*Removes contact lens*  
CracktheSkye commands you…all of you…REVIEW!**

**CracktheSkye, out!**


	5. Aestas et Ensis

**Well, I'm back, everyone. Please don't kill me. Life kind of bushwhacked me, and my muse decided she wanted to explore new lands for a while. BUT! I managed to coax her back. Thalia is currently locked in a cage and will not be released until I have my chapters. I hope. If she figures out how to pick locks…then we'll have a problem. On a side note, I'm glad so many people like my portrayal of Dumbledore. I know his actions are kind of questionable, but at the same time, I'm reminded of a quote from NCIS: LA (which I also don't own); "You look at him, and you see a ruthless manipulator. I look at him and see a man who has been alone for so long he's forgotten how to ask for help." Dumbledore is the most powerful wizard of his generation, and is essentially the icon of Wizarding Britain (and apparently Wizarding Europe). It's very lonely at the top.  
Well, I've talked your ear off enough, I think. On with the show.**

Disclaimer: Hah! No.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date.

Sonnet 18, William Shakespeare

Book One, Chapter Five: Aestas et Ensis

* * *

15 June, 1993 Hogwarts Castle

"Ugh…" Harry groaned as the roof of the Hospital Wing swam into focus.

_Hey, Gryffindor?_

_Yes cub?_

_If I ever try something like that again…please knock me out before I finish thinking about it._

Gryffindor's deep laugh resonated in Harry's mind, and the Boy-Who-Lived smiled in return.

"Ah good, you're awake Harry."

Harry turned to see Dumbledore standing near the foot of his bed, a grandfatherly smile on his face.

"You really must try avoiding waking up like this Harry. One would think you prefer the hospital beds to your own."

Harry's eyes lowered. "Sorry, sir."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "It's nothing you have to apologize for. You're not the first Hogwarts student to end up in the Hospital Wing this many times. Your father, as I recall, was in here quite often in his time as a student."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. Quidditch aside, your father and his friends got into quite a few…altercations. Speaking of friends…"

Dumbledore waved a hand towards the Wing's doors. They unlocked, and were promptly thrown open by two fast moving blurs.

"HARRY!"

There was a second's delay, and then Harry was slammed from either side by a pair of blonde and brunette missiles.

Harry could have sworn he heard one of his ribs crack. For a pair of slight girls, Hermione and Luna hugged like grizzly bears.

"Oof…I'm alright you two…"

"You stupid idiot…" Hermione muttered, her voice trembling slightly. "You just had to go and hurt yourself again…"

Luna said nothing, but her hug tightened again.

In Harry's head, Gryffindor was chuckling merrily. _Two at once Cub!_

Someone cleared their throat, and Harry finally noticed Ron and Neville standing next to Dumbledore, amusement and relief warring for dominance on their faces.

"Alright there, Harry?"

"Fine, Ron, Neville. Thanks."

Dumbledore was positively beaming. "You have a wonderful group of friends, Harry. When they heard you were in the Hospital Wing, they rushed in here and refused to leave until Madam Pomfrey kicked them out."

Hermione released her hug very quickly when she realized that there were spectators. Luna, on the other hand, stayed right where she was. Harry glanced down at her. "Er, Luna?"

"Mmm?"

"You can…let go now."

"I don't want to. You feel nice."

Harry wasn't sure how red he had blushed, but if Hermione was _that _red, he must have looked like a tomato that had been dropped in red paint. Gryffindor was positively roaring with laughter.

"Luna…please?"

"Oh…fine." She withdrew, slowly and reluctantly, a childish pout on her face.

Harry turned to the Headmaster, who was watching the proceedings with an amused smile. "How long was I out, sir?"

"A day and a half, Harry."

"And…did it work?"

"You don't need to hide it from us, Harry," Hermione frowned at him. "Dumbledore told us what you were doing."

"Indeed." Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling again. "We shared several interesting stories…including the one about your new sword."

In less than an eyeblink, Gryffindor's subsiding laughter had turning to a snarl, and the Sword was in Harry's hand, pointed directly at the Headmaster. Harry's eyes narrowed, flashing golden.

"And what are your intentions, sir?" He bit out, feeling a strange resonance in his throat, even as he prepared to defend himself.

Before Dumbledore could respond, Hermione had spoken up.

"It's alright, Harry! Dumbledore has no problem with Gryffindor."

"Miss Granger speaks the truth, Harry. I have no desire to deprive you of your…companion. When I cast a spell after we removed the Horcrux from your forehead, there were no other foreign presences within your soul. Whatever you say Gryffindor is, he is no threat to you nor to any other student, yes?"

Harry nodded, the sword still up and ready.

"Then there isn't any problem with him staying with you."

As one, Harry and Gryffindor relaxed, and the Sword vanished into the void again. Ron swallowed.

"Blimey, Harry, you get scarier every day."

Neville nodded in agreement.

Dumbledore chuckled, and the entire room let out a collective breath of relief. Then, Harry felt the pressure around his middle again. He looked down.

"Luna, why are you hugging me again?"

The blonde girl _nuzzled _him. "Was trying to get you to calm down. Decided to stay."

"As nice as that was of you Luna, could you let go? Harry probably wants his ribs back." The bushy-haired Gryffindor smiled awkwardly, unsure of what else to say.

Luna paused for a moment, as if thinking.

"No."

Hermione spluttered, Harry made an uncomprehending squawk, and Gryffindor's laughter shook the plains of Harry's mind.

* * *

20 June, 1993 Hogwarts Express

"Euuuugh! Haggis flavored!" Ron looked decidedly green as he swallowed the red-brown Every Flavor Bean Harry had given him, to the laughter of everyone else in the compartment.

Ron bristled, and shoved a crimson red bean at Harry. "Go on, then. You try one."

Harry took the bean, and, steeling his nerves, popped it into his mouth. Luna watched as his face rapidly changed from one of trepidation to one of surprised delight.

"What flavor is it?"

Harry's eyes opened, and Luna blinked in surprise. Harry's eyes were, once again, flickering between his usual green and a tawny gold.

"Fresh-kill gazelle meat…"

Luna tried. She really did. But Harry's tone of voice was so _blissful_ that she couldn't help herself. She burst into laughter, followed shortly by Ron and Hermione

"How do you even know how that tastes?" Neville asked, his mouth quirking in suppressed humour.

Harry flushed red at the question. "Gryffindor seems to be more like an actual lion than I thought. It bleeds over a bit."

Hermione recovered from her laughter enough to give Harry an interested look. "Really? That sounds fascinating."

Harry's eyes defocused for a moment, before he looked at his year mate again. "Gryffindor says it's part of learning how to use him. The more I practice with him, the more I understand him. Apparently, Soul Cutter Swords grow more powerful the closer they are to their wielders."

Hermione's head cocked slightly. "Is that what you'll be doing this summer?"

Harry nodded. "I ran into Voldemort two times in two years, and I survived by the skin of my teeth both times. I need to get stronger. If I keep relying on my luck, it's going to run out one day."

The mood soured a bit, and the other four occupants of the compartment shared a look, and a thought.

If Harry intended to stand against Voldemort, they would make sure that he wasn't alone.

The Boy-Who-Lived shook his head, and changed the subject. "So what are the rest of you doing over the hols?"

Hermione nodded. "My parents and I will be in the South of France for most of the break."

"I'll probably just be hanging around the Burrow, play Quidditch with Fred and George. Ginny's also going to need help getting over what that stupid diary did to her. That's going to be my job." Ron's face was determined.

Neville spoke up. "I'll be doing some research at home. There's something that I want to look into."

Everyone turned to look at Luna, who simply gave them a mischievous smile. "Oh, I'll be doing… this and that."

"Aww, come on Luna, not even a hint?"

The blonde Ravenclaw shook her head with the resolution of a child that was holding its favorite toy. "Nope!"

Hermione pouted, crossing her arms petulantly over her chest. She _hated _not knowing something, and Luna knew it.

"Hmph!"

Luna giggled at her expression, and was joined by Harry, Ron and Neville. Hermione managed to hold out for a few more seconds, before breaking into a smile and laughing with the rest of them.

Once again, an incredible feeling of lightness and warmth bloomed in Luna's chest, and she felt as if she could fly. If this was what having friends was like…she never wanted it to end.

As the Express rumbled on, and they resumed their game with Every Flavor Beans, no one noticed that Luna was no longer sitting on her seat, and was instead hovering just slightly above it.

* * *

Several Days Later, Little Whinging, Surrey

"So this is called Blade Meditation?"

Harry was seated cross-legged on the floor of the smallest bedroom at Number Four, Privet Drive, with Gryffindor laid across his lap.

_Yes._ _It's meant to improve understanding between a Soul Cutter and its wielder. It's also how you can enter your Inner World without me dragging you in, or you being forced in._

"Right."

_Now, relax, and try to fix your mind on our connection._

Harry began to take deep breaths, closing his eyes and focusing on the sensation of Gryffindor's bond with him.

_In._

The feeling of warm steel and hot sun grew stronger, and Harry swore he could feel wind against his face.

_Out._

Harry noticed his hearing sharpening; he could hear Dudley stuffing himself with crisps, and every word from the telly that Dudley was undoubtedly watching.

_In._

Then it stretched even further, and he could hear the occasional birdcall, the rumbling of cars in the distance, and the rustle of one of Mrs. Figg's cats in the bushes.

_Out._

Then, he felt himself falling.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes to the sight of the rolling grasslands of his Inner World and the feel of sun-soaked rock beneath him.

"Well done, Harry. You really are a natural at this." Gryffindor's deep voice sounded very pleased, as the sword spirit padded down the spur of rock towards his wielder.

Harry stood and followed the massive lion down onto the plains.

"You said this is going to help me reach a new level of power?"

"Yes. There are two stages of release for each Soul Cutter. The first, called _Shikai_, Initial Release, you already know."

Unbidden, the words flew from Harry's lips "Roar, Gryffindor."

The Sword was suddenly in Harry's hands, and flared with golden flames. For the first time, Harry was able to get a clear view of it. The blade had grown longer and wider, and its steel was tinged red. The grip was also longer, and a crimson and gold tassel dangled from the pommel.

"This is my first release. When you use it, your magic grows in strength. Right now your magic only doubles in strength. With practice, it may go as high as five."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "That strong?"

The lion nodded. "In addition, every Initial Release has an ability that they can use. Each Soul Cutter's ability is unique. The second stage of release is known as _Bankai,_ Final Release. In the Final Release, your power may increase anywhere from five to ten times your Initial Release. _Bankai _also grants more abilities related to those of your _Shikai_."

The (usually) green-eyed boy didn't even hear the second part. "T-ten times?" He did the math in his head. "That's anywhere from twenty to fifty times normal!"

Gryffindor chuckled. "There's a reason Gryffindor died from old age, and not combat, Cub."

Harry shook his head in amazement. "Incredible. The Founders really were incredible people."

He looked down at the blade in his hand with new eyes. "Will I be that strong?"

"It's possible, Cub. You have the potential."

"So how do l learn to use the Final Release?"

At this, Gryffindor smirked slightly. "I will not teach you. Not yet."

"Wha–"

The lion interrupted him. "I cannot teach you how to use my powers if you do not yet understand them. Before I teach you _Bankai_, you must first prove that you can use _Shikai_."

Gryffindor stamped a paw on the ground, and Harry felt a hot wind rush past. The grass all around him rustled, and the great lion took a few steps back, his face hard.

"Now…defend yourself!"

Then they burst out of the grass, claws extended for Harry's throat.

* * *

-The Rookery, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon-

Luna danced in the door to the tune of a particularly bouncy five-and-a-half-step waltz that her father was playing; he had forgotten that today was the day she came back from Hogwarts, so she had taken the Knight Bus back on her own. She always enjoyed the feeling in the pit of her stomach when the purple triple-decker went flying over a large bump.

Oddly enough, she had gotten something like that feeling with her friends on the Hogwarts Express. A weightlessness that wasn't unpleasant at all, but felt like a mix between a Cheering Charm and Wingardium Leviosa.

Luna had decided that she liked that feeling.

_Harry is training to be stronger so that he can fight Voldemort. I need to get stronger too. Come hell or high water, I'm going to be behind him._

"Daddy dearest?"

A mop of wild blonde hair preceded her father's face into the room. Literally, the head of hair floated into the room, followed by a completely bald Xenophilius Lovegood, wand in hand.

"Hello, daughter dearest. I didn't know you were home."

Luna sighed indulgently. Sometimes she felt like she was the parent, and her father the child.

"Yes, Daddy, I'm home."

She gave her father a hug, then breezed into the kitchen and began making tea and a bowl of strawberries.

"I'm going to go down to the tulgey wood for a while. Don't worry, I'll be home in time for breakfast."

Her father absently waved her on, his focus on plucking a single strand of his own hair. "Take care, sweet potato. The Jub-Jub birds are nesting again."

Luna nodded, and made her way out the door, carrying the tray with her. Her path took her around Wuffles' pond, past the grove of Tum-Tum trees Great-Uncle Lewis planted years ago, and into the dark, shadowy trees of the tulgey wood.

Ignoring the rustling in the bushes around her, Luna walked until she reached a dim clearing. High above, the trees thinned just enough to allow a faint light to brighten the forest floor, illuminating the stone circle in the center of the clearing.

The blonde Ravenclaw gently placed the tray on the ground, and sat back against a tree, her eyes on the other side of the circle.

"Maia…I need to talk to you."

The air shimmered above the stone circle, and through the haze, Luna saw a graceful white figure leave the forest on the other side.

"Hello Luna. It's been a while."

* * *

-Nice, France-

Hermione smiled brightly, practically skipping out the door of the bookstore. Earlier this morning, her mother had dragged her father off on yet another shopping excursion, and had handed Hermione spending money for the day, and instructions to be back in the hotel room by five in the afternoon.

Naturally, Hermione had immediately begun hunting through the local bookstores, and had made a startling (and pleasant) discovery about small bookshops in France, or at least in Nice.

They were all run by wizards.

For the most part, the books in the shop were mundane. But, in every shop, there was always a corner of magic-related books hidden by a Muggle Repellant Charm and a Muggle-Notice-Me-Not Charm.

The best part? She could pay for the books in Muggle money!

Her eyes roved over the store signs, and found her next destination. It was smaller than any of the other bookstores she had visited, but the windows were clean, the sign freshly painted, and the books in the window were all in excellent condition.

The bell on the door jingled, and the man behind the counter smiled welcomingly.

"_Bienvenue, Mademoiselle."_

Hermione smiled back, then made a beeline towards the back of the shop, where every previous shop had its magic corner.

Nearly an hour later, the Gryffindor made her way back up to the counter, and set her purchases on the polished wood next to the old-fashioned register.

The man glanced down at the stack of tomes, and nodded in approval.

"_Alchemy and Alkahestry: a Comparison_. You are interested in Alchemy, Mademoiselle Granger?"

Hermione tensed, and took a step back. "How do you know my name?"

The man grinned in a manner very reminiscent of Dumbledore in a joking mood, and continued speaking in perfect English. "My dear girl, how could I not know your name? Your admirable actions your first year, figuring out the identity of Slytherin's monster this year on your own… "

Her eyes narrowed further, and her hand slipped down to where her wand was concealed in her jacket. The man seemed to notice, though, and he laughed.

"Please be at ease. I mean you no harm."

At Hermione's disbelieving look, he sighed. "I know, I know, it is hard to believe, but I speak the truth. I have an offer for you, actually."

"An offer…?"

"Yes. In only two years, you have gained a grasp of the principles of magic that even those born to it take years to reach. You've also demonstrated remarkable talent in potions-making, and you dedicate yourself to your studies in a manner worthy of most Ravenclaws. You have outstanding moral character, and you're not afraid to take risks in order to do what must be done. Most importantly, you have more logic in your little finger than most wizards have in their whole body."

Hermione blushed. Even if this man was a stranger who knew far more than he should, he was being particularly glowing in his compliments. A moment later, though, the amused glint in the man's eyes faded, and he regarded her with a serious gaze.

"Hermione Jean Granger, in your exploits you have demonstrated all the qualities I look for in an apprentice."

Hermione blinked, still confused. "Who are you?"

The man straightened, a glint of pride entering his eyes.

"My name is Nicholas Flamel. And I wish to teach you alchemy."

* * *

-Longbottom Manor, England-

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Longbottom had an incredibly long history in the magical world; and was, in fact, one of the few remaining Houses which still bore the title. Like the Houses of Black, Potter, and Bones, the Longbottoms could trace the roots of their House all the way back to the era of Camelot and High King Arthur. Each house had inherited powerful relics from that legendary time, and held as tightly to them as possible. None except the families themselves knew what they held; the relics had not seen daylight in centuries

When Neville had been eight, the Dowager Augusta Longbottom had taken him down into the vaults of the Manor, and shown him the entrance to the Relic Vault. It was that vault that Neville was heading towards now.

It was, of course, easier said than done. Longbottom Manor had been the seat of the family for hundreds of years, and the catacombs beneath, while nowhere near as labyrinthine as Gringotts, were easy to get lost in. It was, after all, the last line of defense for their family relics.

Unless, of course, you were a Longbottom. As Neville made his way down another vaulted passageway, braziers lit themselves ahead of him, guiding the Gryffindor down hall after hall, until, finally, he stopped in front of what looked like an unremarkable wall.

For a moment, Neville felt the familiar sensation of self-doubt rise up again. Three times before, he had stood before the vault, and it hadn't opened for him. Why should it be different now?

_It's different now, because I have a reason to be here._

Neville straightened himself, and face the door with all the dignity of a true pureblood heir.

"Open the gates for Neville Longbottom, Scion of the House of Longbottom. _In Aeternum Fidus._"

There was a rumble, and then a line of red-brown light split the wall in two, and the doors swung outward of their own accord, revealing a great black space beyond.

Neville squared his shoulders, and marched into the darkness.

It was several minutes before Neville realized that the darkness wasn't ending, and stopped.

"What's going on?"

Unexpectedly, he was answered by a rumbling bass voice that brought to mind images of clashing boulders.

**AFTER THESE MANY YEARS OF ETERNAL SILENCE, A LONGBOTTOM COMES TO CLAIM THEIR BIRTHRIGHT. WHO ART THOU, SMALL ONE?"**

Neville swallowed his nervousness, and replied to the disembodied voice with as much courage as he could muster.

"My name is Neville Longbottom."

The voice was quiet for a moment.

**INTERESTING. THAT ONE SUCH AS THOU WISHES USE OF THE LONGBOTTOM RELIC. WHEREFORE DOST THOU SEEK SUCH POWER?**

"Because my friend needs me."

The voice replied quickly this time, sounding derisive.

**OH? AND THOU DOST SEEK TO IMPRESS THINE ALLY WITH GRAND POWER? HOW PATHETIC. I SHALL NOT GRANT THOU THIS POWER FOR SUCH A CHILDISH DESIRE.**

Neville shook his head. "That's not it at all! Harry…Harry is going to have to fight V-Voldemort. And I can't let him do it alone!"

**THOU WISHES TO PROTECT THINE COMRADE WHEN HE GOES INTO BATTLE?**

"Yes."

The black space was quiet for a long moment, until, of all things, the voice began to laugh.

**heh…heheheh…Hahahah…BWAHAHAHAHA! YES! THAT IS WELL, NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM! A DESIRE WORTHY OF THE LONGBOTTOM NAME! PROCEED ONWARD! **

Then Neville blinked, and he found himself standing in front of the door to the vault once again, staring into the space beyond it.

"What…?"

The voice from before echoed from the gaping emptiness beyond the doorway, making Neville jump.

**CONTINUE ONWARD INTO THE VAULT, NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM. I SHALT NOT BAR THINE PATH THIS TIME. CLAIM THINE BIRTHRIGHT.**

Confused, but still determined, Neville strode into the vault, and this time, the darkness dispelled after a single step, revealing the small chamber beyond.

It was well-lit, and unremarkable, apart from a few pedestals spaced around the room. Each one held a treasure that would be called priceless by any wizard, but Neville only had eyes for the pillar at the center of the room. Of all the treasures in the vault, what rested on the pedestal would be regarded as a treasure beyond any other.

A smile on his face, Neville reached out, and, after a moment's hesitation, plucked the treasure from its place.

A moment later, he turned, leaving the vault doors to close behind him.

* * *

-The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole-

_Shunk._

The Burrow was quiet.

_Shunk._

A rarity in and of itself, one that Molly Weasley was thankful for.

_Shunk._

She loved her children dearly, but sometimes she missed the quiet of life before seven children.

_Shunk._

Well, really, life before Fred and George, but the point still stood. A moment of quiet where she could work with her hands in the kitchen without using magic was a godsend; her mother had taught her how to cook the Muggle way, and it was only once the Burrow began to fill with children that she was forced to use magic to get all the food on the table. Being able to forgo magic in the kitchen was her way of putting her feet up – it was quiet, relaxing…

_SLAM! WHOOSH! BANG!_

And all too prone to shattering. In the span of two seconds, the door burst open, the fireplace burned green, and the house shook.

Mr. Weasley, Bill Weasley, and the twins, respectively.

"MUM! FRED AND GEORGE ARE –"

"-VER GUESS WHAT JUST HAPPENED MUM!"

"-SOME GREAT NEWS –"

"-_TOLD _THEM NOT TO DO IT, BUT THEY –"

"-REST OF THE HOLS OFF!"

"I WON THE DAILY PROPHET'S PRIZE DRAWING!"

There was a beat of silence, before every available voice in the house focused its force on Arthur Weasley.

"**WHAT!?"**

* * *

**Ah, finis, finally!**

**I know that really nothing happened this chapter, but that was the unfortunate side effect of having a prep/intro to training chapter. (Un?)fortunately, next chapter will be the other end of summer, and possibly also include a prison break. **

**For those of you who spotted it, the credit goes to Gregg Landsman. Everyone go read NGE: Nobody Dies. You'll alternate between side-splitting laughter and jaw-dropping disbelief. Five Star Recommendation.**

**So, one of the Golden…eh, let's go with Pentagram for now… has their future skill revealed. Hermione gets Alchemy. Or, as the particular style I favor calls it: Renkinjutsu. For all you who get it: have a cookie.**

**Ron's and Neville's are still heavily under wraps, and are still having the details hashed out. Luna's set of powers is…interesting, I think. And Harry will finally get some real training in with Gryffindor. Jinzen ftw! For those who are curious, the Longbottom motto roughly translates to "Eternally Loyal." I think it sounds nice…**

**Reviews? Reviews for the poor? Reviews for the poor? Reviews?**

**CracktheSkye, out!**


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